


cover my skin with your sunkissed light

by angstinspace



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Pining Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Pre-Time Skip, Sharing a Bed, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, canonverse, hints of future dimileth, tent sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstinspace/pseuds/angstinspace
Summary: Sylvain's touch still lingers there, like he's afraid he might have woken Felix up. But when Felix still doesn't move at all, Sylvain lets out a soft and breathy noise that falls somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. There's a barely perceptible shift in weight in the mattress, like maybe Sylvain is leaning a hand against it, and ...That's when Felix feels it––the brief shiver of Sylvain's breath, followed by the gentle press of his lips on Felix’s forehead.or, Sylvain keeps showing Felix signs of affection, but only when he thinks Felix is asleep … and Felix, who is actually awake every time, starts to realize his true feelings for his best friend.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 211
Kudos: 678





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well would you look at that, it’s my first sylvix fic! (the first of many i’m sure … haha)
> 
> anyway, a couple months ago my friend ang linked me [this reddit post](https://twitter.com/redditships/status/1244609868943765504?s=21) about a guy whose roommate keeps kissing him on the forehead and showing him other little signs of affection when he’s asleep, so he keeps pretending to be asleep so his roommate will kiss him some more. naturally we were like “this sylvix” and the more we talked about it the more i was like “you know what…..i’m gonna write this” 
> 
> i initially thought this fic would be short but being my usual self, i got carried away (and also, sylvix––and fe3h in general––really have me by the throat so, oops!). because this ended up being so long, i’ve split it up into 5 chapters and plan to post a chapter a week (chapter 5 might take a little longer because i haven’t finished writing it yet, but i’ll try to stay on schedule as best i can)!! 
> 
> other notes/warnings:
> 
> this is a canonverse fic and pre time-skip. although i wouldn’t say it’s too heavy on plot spoilers, i’ll just put a blanket spoiler warning over it for blue lions route pre time-skip. there’s also a few spoilers from the sylvix supports (specifically the A+ support), spoilers from felix’s paralogue, and i guess some spoilers from both felix’s and sylvain’s supports with byleth if you squint. this also takes place a while after the battle against miklan, so there’s some spoilers/references to that as well. 
> 
> in terms of content warnings, the main thing i’ll warn for is violence but it’s not really any more violent than canon i would say, aka most of the violence is mentioned but not really shown. chapter 5 will have a bit more detailed “onscreen” violence/bloodshed but i’ll be sure to put a warning specifically on that chapter when i post it. otherwise just a general content warning for a lot of mentions of death (but again, roughly about the same amount as in canon). 
> 
> and lastly, a huge thank you to my betas (and amazing friends): [ang](https://twitter.com/stelllalights), [jessie](https://twitter.com/parchmints), [miranda](https://twitter.com/mirmirthepanda), and [noelle](https://twitter.com/genericdancer)! i love y’all so much and could not have done this without you ♡
> 
> (title comes from “[texas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWWMgaAKW-o)” by magic man)

It first happens late one night when they’re studying in Felix’s room. 

Felix doesn’t know what hour it is, but it’s gotten late enough that the candle on his bedside table has shortened by a couple of inches, wax dripping down its sides. The distant church bells rang ten times quite a while ago, and they won’t ring again until the morning. Besides the flickering candlelight, the only other source of illumination is the half-face of the moon shining through one of the narrow windows. 

The textbook pages blur in and out of focus. Although Felix keeps turning them, he no longer absorbs their information. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t be reading all this nonsense in the first place, anyway. What’s the point of memorizing diagrams and battle strategies? Everything he needs to know, he can learn from experience on the battlefield. 

But Sylvain insisted they both study the day before exams––and after his insistent pestering, whining, and pouting, Felix finally caved in. Although, he still doesn’t understand why Sylvain is so determined to stay up late into the night studying; he’s always had an uncanny ability to pass almost any test without even picking up a book beforehand. 

He seems to actually be putting in some effort this time, however, sitting cross-legged on Felix's floor with one textbook lying open in front of him and several others sitting in a stack next to him. Every once in a while he'll scribble some notes on a piece of parchment or murmur something to himself, absorbed in his work.

Felix is sitting on the narrow bed, textbook propped on his lap and his back pressed against the wall. But his attention keeps wandering from the text in front of him, drawn across the room towards Sylvain––to the way he sits hunched over his book, the candlelight highlighting the copper tones in his hair. 

He's not making _that_ much noise––just the occasional scratching sound of his quill when he writes a note down, or when he says something to himself under his breath. But for some reason, his very presence instills an itch underneath Felix's skin, the origin of which he can't seem to pinpoint. 

Finally, Felix plops his textbook down. "Can you stop _muttering_? I can't concentrate."

His callous tone, as usual, has little effect on his best friend. Sylvain only lifts his head with an easy smile, propping his chin on one hand. 

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Sometimes I just gotta talk myself through something out loud. Makes it easier to remember. You should try it sometime." 

"Hmph," Felix responds. He means to think up a more biting retort, but any options vanish from his mind as he notices a small dark smudge along Sylvain's cheekbone. The sight of it bothers him to an absurd degree. Perhaps it's the exhaustion getting to him, but he briefly envisions himself jumping down from the bed and reaching over to swipe away the tiny mark with his thumb. Instead, his hands tighten on either side of his book. "You have ink on your face." 

"Do I?" Sylvain raises an eyebrow, rubbing the back of his hand against his cheek. "How about now?" 

"That made it worse." 

"Really? Damn it." Sylvain lets his hand fall back into his lap. "Oh, well. I'm sure I still look devastatingly handsome though, right?"

Felix rolls his eyes in reply. "You're insufferable," he says, turning his attention back to his textbook. 

He expects more of a fight out of Sylvain––maybe even _wants_ it, if only to provide a distraction from the fruitless task of studying. So he feels an odd sense of disappointment when Sylvain doesn't push the matter any further––only releases a short sigh and lowers his head again.

Taking that as a signal that he should return to reading as well, Felix tries to concentrate on the page in front of him. It displays a detailed chart of almost every type of sword known to mankind, what materials they're made from, and the advantages and disadvantages of each. Not that swords don't interest Felix, but he'd much rather learn each's merits by wielding them rather than reading about them. 

The more he examines the words and illustrations, the more his vision begins to glaze over. He tries to focus, or at least pretends to, but it's difficult when his eyelids are growing heavy and his thoughts keep drifting off. Felix leans back against the wall behind him, and it isn't long before his chin starts to droop towards his chest. Although he snaps his head up again and tries to mentally shake himself awake, it's a losing battle. 

He'll just rest for a minute, he tells himself. Just enough that he can momentarily restore his energy. And so he rests his open book on his thighs and crosses his arms as he slouches back against the wall. He allows his eyes to fall closed. 

Behind his eyelids, he can see the afterimages of the flickering candle flame and of the diagrams on the textbook page. They soon dissipate, and he's left with nothing but the fuzzy darkness and the faint sounds of Sylvain turning pages and scrawling notes down. 

He's not certain when he starts to drift off, but the quiet atmosphere soon lulls him into a state of half-awareness. Sylvain says something, but it's as if Felix hears it from the end of a long tunnel. Or maybe he imagined it altogether. 

It's at least enough to restore some semblance of consciousness, but Felix keeps his tired eyes closed. There's a long pause, and then he hears the sound of shifting pages and a book thudding shut. Footsteps creak across the wood floor towards him. 

At this point Felix has almost returned to complete awareness, so he's not certain what prevents him from opening his eyes or saying something to reveal he's actually awake. Maybe it's outright stubbornness, or that he wants to send Sylvain a signal that he wants to go to bed now. 

What he doesn't expect is to feel the weight of the book lift from his legs as Sylvain moves it out of the way. "Felix?" 

Felix decides not to answer. If he continues to feign sleep, maybe Sylvain will stop pestering him and go away. 

Sylvain does not go away. 

A long pause follows, and Felix is starting to feel self-conscious about Sylvain watching him in this vulnerable state. _Why doesn't he leave already?_ But somehow, the thought of opening his eyes now and meeting Sylvain's gaze makes him feel like his heart has plunged into his stomach. Better to keep up the act until Sylvain gives up. 

He's not certain how long it's been by now, but it feels like it's been almost an entire minute. Felix is on the verge of snapping his eyes open and telling Sylvain he's trying to sleep ... but right then, he hears a faint scuffle of movement. 

_Finally_ , Felix thinks. His sense of triumph is short-lived, however, when he realizes that Sylvain isn't moving away. Instead, the darkness behind his eyelids spreads further towards the edges of his vision as the figure behind them grows _closer_ , blocking out even more of the light. 

Normally, Felix would shrink away and demand what the hell Sylvain is doing. Maybe he's too tired, or simply too shocked to move. But he remains entirely still, even when he feels the light touch of fingertips against his forehead, brushing aside a few strands of hair that have escaped from his bun. Felix's breath stops and he quickly tries to get it under control, returning his inhales and exhales to a slow and steady rate under the guise of sleep. 

Sylvain's touch still lingers there, like he's afraid he might have woken Felix up. But when Felix doesn't move at all, Sylvain lets out a soft and breathy noise that falls somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. There's a barely perceptible shift in weight in the mattress, like maybe Sylvain is leaning a hand against it, and ...

That's when Felix feels it––the brief shiver of Sylvain's breath, followed by the gentle press of his lips on Felix’s forehead.

It's so light, so fleeting, that it could hardly be counted as a kiss. Yet, the unexpected contact makes Felix feel as if he's been run right through with a levin sword, electricity spreading from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers. By some miracle, he manages not to move a muscle––except a small twitch between his eyes, his brow furrowing on instinct. But if Sylvain notices, it apparently doesn't raise any suspicions; maybe he thinks Felix is just frowning in his sleep. 

Even though he doesn't move, Felix's heart pounds so furiously that he's almost worried Sylvain can hear it across the small distance between them. He doesn't know how much longer he can just sit there pretending to be asleep without losing his mind, and _why hasn't Sylvain moved away yet_? 

After what feels like an eternity, the shadow behind his eyelids begins to retreat. There's a long pause, then a whisper of "G'night, Felix." It has a lilt of amusement to it, but something rasping underneath that Felix can't define. 

Soon, he hears footsteps again, then the faint shuffling noise of Sylvain gathering his things. At last, the door creaks open, then clicks shut. 

Felix remains still, eyes closed and arms crossed as he continues to lean back against the wall, until he hears Sylvain’s footfalls treading down the hall to his own room. It’s only when the silence has stretched out for about half a minute that he finally dares to move.

He sits up so fast it makes his head spin, and his eyes fly open like he just awoke from a nightmare. His breathing has gone shallow and he fights to regulate it, taking a deep breath and releasing it. 

Around him, the room is completely still and silent, except for the candlelight dancing along the walls. Felix’s attention is drawn naturally to the spot where Sylvain was sitting only minutes ago, as if he expects his friend to still be there—but not a single book or scrap of parchment remains, or any other sign that Sylvain was there at all. 

Suddenly feeling like all the energy has been sapped from his veins, Felix collapses back against the wall. It’s probably the exhaustion getting to him, but he feels oddly lightheaded. 

Almost without even realizing it, he lifts one of his hands and touches the tingling spot on his temple where Sylvain kissed him. Or … was it even a kiss? Did he imagine it? He must have been imagining it. 

In any case, he doesn’t know why he feels so shaken over something so trivial. He isn’t one to welcome physical affection and maybe that’s why it’s bothering him, but _still._

His heart still pounds even minutes afterward, as if he just completed a particularly strenuous training session. Felix does his best to ignore it, as he finally gathers his wits enough to lean over and blow out the candle, releases his hair from its updo, and lies down on his bed.

But even when his pulse returns to its normal rate, Felix remains awake, staring up into the darkness. 

_What in the Goddess’s name?_

  


* * *

  


Sylvain is a very physically affectionate person. It’s not that Felix was previously unaware of this fact, but it becomes much more apparent to him over the next couple of weeks. 

He’s known for years, of course, that Sylvain is eager to place his hands—and mouth, and Goddess knows what else—on practically anything that moves. But it’s not just _that_ , of course. It’s also that, even platonically, he tends to show his support and fondness for others through physical gestures. 

Felix finds himself noting each of these instances with more attention than usual. He can’t tell whether they’ve grown more frequent or whether he’s just become more aware of them, but he witnesses another sample of it each day: Sylvain puts his hands on Ingrid’s shoulders to adjust her posture during training, he hugs Ashe after a particularly intense battle, he ruffles Annette‘s hair, he kisses Mercedes on the cheek, he pats Dedue on the back, he even slings an arm casually over the boar prince’s shoulders once or twice. 

However, he never touches Felix.

It never really occurred to him before, but Felix has grown increasingly aware of this fact. Not that he _cares_ , of course. He’s always rejected any form of physical contact, and Sylvain must be aware of that, considering how well he knows Felix. Perhaps Sylvain is only trying to respect his boundaries. 

So then, why does it bother Felix so much? And why _now_ of all times? 

It's not like it ever bothered him before, but out of nowhere he finds himself dissecting this fact that Sylvain is constantly touching almost everyone _except_ him. Well ... unless he thinks Felix is asleep, apparently. 

Which brings up a whole other slew of questions––because surely, over all these years of familiarity with each other, Felix has been asleep in Sylvain's presence more than once. Has this happened before? Does Sylvain always kiss him on the forehead when he thinks Felix is asleep? 

He has half a mind to test this hypothesis, but the opportunity has yet to present itself. That, and the notion is completely ridiculous. He has much more to be concerned about than whether or not his best friend kisses him on the head when he's sleeping, or whether he shows any physical attention towards Felix at all. 

Yet, he finds himself caught up in this foolish train of thought ... wondering what about him is so repulsive that Sylvain won't so much as lay a finger on him––when he's awake, at least. There is always the option of asking him, Felix supposes, but the thought of marching up to Sylvain and demanding _"Why don't you ever touch me?"_ is so utterly humiliating that even thinking about it makes him feel as if his soul has detached from his body.

He settles instead for pushing these thoughts deep into the far corners of his mind. There's no point in wasting energy on them. He cycles through class and training, reminding himself to stay focused on whatever task is laid in front of him.

Besides, he tells himself, Sylvain's momentary display of affection was just a singular occurrence. It's never going to happen again. 

  


* * *

  


Several weeks have passed since the first incident, and Felix has almost reached the point where he's accepted it: What happened during their late-night study session was some fleeting slip of judgement on Sylvain's part. And considering Sylvain has not said anything about it at all, or done anything similar since, it seems safe to assume that he has no intention of repeating it. 

The class soon leaves the monastery on a mission to disperse a bandit outbreak in a nearby village. It’s a two day journey, which means they have to stop and camp overnight on the way there. 

As always, Felix anticipates the mission with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. On the one hand, he looks forward to crossing blades with some new opponents, even if they happen to be a bunch of lowly thieves. If it means protecting innocent civilians, as well as gaining battle experience, he can't complain about that. 

But there is, of course, always that itch of anxiety under his skin at the prospect that they're all putting themselves in danger. He knows he shouldn't worry too deeply about it, not when they'll only be fighting a handful of foes at once. Plus, the professor is always there to watch their backs, and Mercedes is a powerful healer if any emergencies occur.

Even knowing all of this, a cold feeling shudders up Felix's spine as darkness falls overhead and they set up camp for the night. Although he keeps trying to shake it away, it lurks over him like a shadow. 

There's a point where they're all gathered around the fire and eating, and Annette is telling some story about how she and Mercedes almost burned down the kitchen the day before, and Ashe laughs so hard he falls off the stump he's sitting on, and even Dedue smirks in amusement ... when suddenly it hits him, like a punch to the gut. 

The realization that any day, any of them could be gone.

He hates to even think about it, but he can't run from the truth. The harsh reality is that they're all putting their lives at stake, and he can't deny the possibility that any of them could be struck down without warning. 

He's seen the way it happens, how death can swoop down and grasp someone in its clutches in the blink of an eye, leaving only scattered remains in its wake. It doesn't spare the young or the strong or the brave. It's not glorious or heroic, no matter how every insipid knight's tale portrays it. It's a horrible, ugly thing ... and the thought of it happening to anyone in this circle makes his stomach turn. 

As the morbid thought continues to plague him, he finds his attention drawn to Sylvain sitting beside him. The firelight flickers across the features of his face––his lopsided smile, the defined angle of his jaw, the bright red of his hair, the golden lustre of his eyes. He really does look like a living version of every fairytale knight––and everything from his dashing charm to his reckless battle maneuvers only adds to that effect. Especially in the bright illumination of the flames, he looks immortal. 

But the last time Felix thought someone was immortal, he was proven horribly wrong. 

"Felix?" 

The familiar voice breaks him out of his dark thoughts. He realizes that he's been staring for far longer than he meant to, and Sylvain is now looking back at him with a concerned frown. Fortunately none of their classmates seem to have noticed, all of them continuing to chatter amongst themselves around the fire. 

"Yes?" Felix says. He somehow maintains his usual biting tone, and hopes that the heat rising to his face is merely from the nearby flames. 

"Nothing, just ..." Sylvain scratches the side of his neck. "You were glaring at me. Do I have something on my face again?"

"What? No." Felix can't maintain eye contact any longer, and he snaps his attention forward and stares into the center of the fire. "Anyway, I wasn't glaring at you. I was just ... thinking."

"Oh," Sylvain says. "New hobby of yours?" 

If anyone else said something like that to him, Felix would probably punch them without hesitation. But even as he turns again to glare daggers at Sylvain, the flicker of anger immediately dies––especially when he sees the teasing smirk on Sylvain's face. 

The corner of his own mouth twitches for about half a second before he schools his expression back into his usual scowl. "Very funny," he says flatly. His annoyance is clearly not convincing enough, though, judging by the amused twinkle in Sylvain's eyes.

Felix tries to think up a better retort—but right then Byleth stands up, surveying the group with their unwavering stare and an amused smirk on their face as they observe the class’s antics. They announce that it’s probably a good time to go to sleep, since they’ll all need to depart early in the morning on the next leg of the journey.

As always, the professor’s calm but firm tone seems to cast a spell over all of them, and they all respectfully fall quiet and begin to help clean up and douse the fire. 

The tents have already been set up in a semicircle around the clearing, and soon they all disperse in pairs or trios. Everyone seems to gravitate naturally towards their usual groups without even saying a word … which is, of course, when Felix realizes he’ll be sharing a tent with Sylvain as he always does.

He doesn’t know why the notion of it instills a fluttering sense of panic in his ribcage. After all, they’ve shared a tent more times than he can count. Not to mention the numerous times he, Sylvain, Dimitri, and Ingrid would sometimes all fall asleep in one bed when they were kids—although that was a long time ago, so it was different.

The thing is, this is the first time he and Sylvain have shared a tent since the _incident_.

It shouldn't matter––it _doesn't_ matter––but for some reason, Felix finds himself glaring stubbornly downwards as he and Sylvain set up their bedrolls side by side. Not that Sylvain would be able to tell if Felix was looking at him, anyway; it's dark inside the tent, with only the faint moonlight filtering through the taut fabric hanging above them. 

When they lie down, Felix rolls onto his side so that he's facing away from Sylvain. He can hear the soft rustling noises of his friend settling onto his own bedroll, then feels Sylvain's shoulder brush against his back and it makes lightning race up his spine.

He shuts his eyes as tightly as possible, willing his heart to stop racing so viciously fast. Goddess, what has gotten into him? 

Minutes pass, and Felix is still wide awake. Every muscle in his body tenses each time he detects the smallest hint of noise or movement behind him. He knows Sylvain is still awake too, judging by the way he keeps shifting around. 

"Felix?"

The whisper of his name makes the hairs on the back of Felix's neck stand up, but he pretends not to hear it. 

"Psst, hey. _Felix_." 

This time it's accompanied by a light tap on his shoulder, which sets Felix's nerves alight. Unable to withstand Sylvain's pestering, he lets out a disgruntled noise and flops over onto his back. 

"What is it?" he hisses––although the words end up losing the bite he intended them to have, since he's distracted by the sight of the shadow looming next to him. 

His vision is still adjusting to the darkness after staring at the fire for so long, so the outline of Sylvain's silhouette is hazy in the moonlight. But if he had to guess, it looks like Sylvain is lying on his side with his head propped up on one hand. Due to their close proximity, this means that Sylvain's face is practically right above his, and the realization makes Felix feel as if an invisible hand is grabbing him by the throat.

"I don't know ... just don't think I can sleep yet," Sylvain says.

Felix represses a snort. "Well, neither of us can sleep if you're _talking_." 

He can practically hear the pout in Sylvain's voice when he answers, "Aw, you're no fun."

It reminds Felix of all the times they stayed up late into the night together as kids––how Felix would always be trying to go to sleep and Sylvain would keep pestering him to stay awake. As much as he pretended to be annoyed by it, he always secretly enjoyed all their late-night talks, even if it was Sylvain doing most of the talking while Felix listened. 

Just like all those years ago, Sylvain seems intent on staying awake. He hasn’t moved at all, still keeping his head propped up. But he’s being uncharacteristically quiet, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it. 

“Felix,” he says at last, “are you okay?” 

Felix turns his head a bit, so he’s looking directly up at Sylvain––or, well, at approximately where he estimates Sylvain’s face is. He’s grateful that the darkness masks the way his eyes are inevitably widening at the unexpected question. 

“What?” he snaps as soon as he recovers from the shock. “Yes, I’m fine. Why?” 

He can hear how overly defensive his tone is and he mentally scolds himself, because he _knows_ Sylvain will see right through it. The ensuing, maddening silence only seems to prove that. 

Sylvain takes his time to answer, and Felix can hear the way he slowly inhales before he speaks. 

“I don’t know. I just feel like you haven’t been acting like yourself.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I––” Sylvain starts to say, then lets out a frustrated huff. “Damn it, that came out wrong. Listen, I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. It’s just that … I feel like you’ve been acting distant from the rest of us. Like something is bothering you. And you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m just saying that if you _do_ want to, you can. That’s all.” 

He practically says it all in one breath, like a dam opening up. Like he’s been holding it back for a while.

Normally, Felix would insist that nothing is wrong, that nothing is bothering him. But something stops him this time. Maybe it’s the earnest tone of Sylvain’s voice, or the fact that there _are_ a lot of things on his mind, and that Felix feels like he might go insane if he doesn’t voice at least some of it out loud. 

It’s not easy to put it all into words, though. Especially the thoughts that he definitely can’t tell Sylvain about––like how he keeps thinking about the brush of Sylvain’s fingertips along the side of his face, about the gentle press of Sylvain’s lips against his forehead … 

Felix’s mouth suddenly feels very dry. He swallows, staring upwards at the roof of the tent, studying the blurry outline of the moon. 

“It’s nothing,” he finally says. “I suppose I’ve just been … thinking about a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

"Death," Felix says simply. The single word is an arrow that pierces the air. "About how any of us could ..." 

He shuts his mouth, mortified. But before he can turn over onto his side again, he feels a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

A thick silence settles over them, interrupted only by the distant stirring of the wind in the trees. Felix can't move––he's not certain if he _wants_ to move. All he can do is lie there, as rigid as a corpse, fixated on the warm and steadying presence of Sylvain's hand practically pinning him down.

"Shit," Sylvain breathes out. "Felix, I'm ..." 

Just like that, the moment shatters. Felix's jaw clenches as something sour crawls up the back of his throat. On instinct, he pushes Sylvain's hand off his shoulder, maybe a little more roughly than he meant to. 

"I don't need your pity," he says sharply. “You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. That’s it.” 

The words taste like poison on his tongue, and he immediately wishes he could take them back. At the same time, the idea of giving in to Sylvain’s sympathy, of actually opening up and sharing all the fears roiling through his mind, is too terrifying to bear. Better to cut it off before he exposes any further sign of vulnerability.

He’s almost glad that he can’t see Sylvain’s face in the darkness, but he knows his friend well enough to guess what expression he’s wearing right now––the small shock of hurt in his eyes, the furrow in his brow that softens almost immediately to resignation. 

Sylvain doesn’t say anything for a long time, but he doesn’t move away either. 

A hard knot forms in Felix’s stomach. He knows he could easily roll back onto his side and end this conversation, but something keeps him in place as if Sylvain’s hand was still holding him down. The spot on his shoulder burns, and he bitterly realizes that Sylvain touched him for once––and Felix immediately pushed him away. 

“You know,” Sylvain says at last, “it’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Felix responds automatically––the same words he’s been repeating to himself for a long time now, every time he throws himself into battle, every time he swings his blade.

“Fine. But if you could just listen for a second … what I’m trying to say is, we’re all afraid of that. Of losing each other. It’s not a weakness.” 

Felix says nothing. There’s suddenly a lump in his throat, and he doesn’t trust himself to try and speak past it. 

Seconds go by before Sylvain continues, even softer than before. 

“Speaking of which, I haven’t forgotten our promise.”

 _Promise_ … ? 

“What are you talking about?” Felix says, although he starts to realize just as the words leave his mouth. But Sylvain couldn’t possibly mean _that_. It was so long ago. 

“The one we made as kids. You remember, don’t you?” 

Of course he remembers. He was only nine years old at the time, and he can’t recall what exactly sparked his initial fear all those years ago … just that out of nowhere, he was gripped with the foreboding knowledge of his own mortality. A deep fear ran through his veins, overtook his small body, sent him hurtling into Sylvain’s arms just like every time he was upset back then. 

Between hiccuping sobs he poured out everything, voice muffled against Sylvain’s chest. And Sylvain held him as tightly as his skinny arms could muster, face buried against Felix’s hair, as he spoke a promise into existence––that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not without Felix. Felix promised it back.

He thought Sylvain would’ve forgotten it by now. 

“That was a long time ago,” he says quietly.

“I know,” says Sylvain. “But I meant it then, and I still mean it now. I just want you to know that.” 

The sincerity of the declaration stills the air in Felix's lungs. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the way they've started stinging fiercely. He could remain silent, and he knows Sylvain would probably accept that. But the thought of saying nothing in response feels so _wrong_.

And so, he gathers his courage and speaks two words he doesn’t often say. 

“Thank you.” 

It comes out so softly that he’s not even sure if Sylvain can hear it. _I meant it too_ , he wants to add, but the words remain caught in his throat. 

Apparently, though, it’s enough. 

“You’re welcome,” Sylvain says, just as quietly. 

Another silence falls over them, and Felix can sense Sylvain’s presence still lingering next to him. He keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t move at all, hoping that Sylvain will get the idea that he’s done talking––he’s already exposed too much. 

After what feels like an eternity, Felix hears the faint sound of Sylvain moving away, his bedroll rustling as he settles down. Relief floods through him. Until now, Felix didn’t realize how taut all his muscles had become, and he finally allows his body to relax. 

As he gradually calms down, his senses start to go dull. He has a distant thought that he has to focus on resting, that tomorrow they’re going into battle and that will provide a much-needed distraction. 

But just as oblivion begins to drag him under, he hears Sylvain’s voice. “Felix? You still awake?” 

It’s hardly more than a whisper, but it feels like an explosion in the stillness. Felix’s eyelids flutter––but after a brief hesitation, he decides to keep them closed. 

He can’t say exactly what’s come over him. He could answer Sylvain’s question truthfully, of course. However, remembering the last time he fell asleep in Sylvain’s presence, he wonders if now might be an opportunity to test his _theory_.

He feels a small twinge of guilt at the idea, and can’t help but feel that something about it is selfish and dishonest. On the other hand, he might not have another chance, and it could be a way to settle his curiosity once and for all. 

_Besides_ , he tells himself, _nothing is going to happen, anyway_.

And so, when Sylvain repeats his name one more time, Felix remains perfectly still––even when the silence is followed by the quiet sound of movement next to him, even when there’s a barely perceptible shift in the air, a warm presence growing closer. 

There’s a funny hitch in Felix’s chest that he can’t distinguish as excitement or terror, or some combination of both. Maybe some part of him expected––or even _hoped_ ––something like this would happen again, but now that he’s faced with it, he feels like he might combust. 

He’s suddenly aware that his head has lolled a bit to one side, facing towards Sylvain––it must have happened when he was on the verge of sleep a few minutes ago––and something about the position makes him feel exposed and vulnerable, like some wounded animal about to have its throat bitten. But as much as he wants to move, to curl protectively in on himself, he knows it’s too late now. 

… Especially when, after several long moments of absolute stillness, he feels the familiar sensation of light fingers against the side of his face.

This time, Felix is at least a little more prepared for it––but that doesn't prevent his pulse from racing or his mind from going blank. His hand is lying right next to his face, curled loosely, and his fingers twitch in momentary surprise. He hopes Sylvain doesn't notice.

It seems, though, that Sylvain is extremely focused. 

The last time, his touch was like a brush of butterfly wings––there one moment and gone the next. But now, it's steady and purposeful, his fingers resting against Felix's jaw while his thumb gently traces Felix's cheekbone. 

Felix feels like he's about to choke on his own breath, but by some miracle he's able to keep it under control. 

Meanwhile, Sylvain's thumb reaches the end of its path, but he doesn't pull away. His hand lingers there, cradling the side of Felix's face––and Felix is struck by how warm and steadying it feels, and he barely manages to ignore the sudden impulse to lean into the touch. 

It feels as if the space around them is growing even smaller, like time itself is holding its breath. Felix is torn between wanting to dwell in the moment for longer and wanting it to end before he totally panics. He’s already terrified that if Sylvain continues to hold his face like this, he’s going to end up doing something he regrets.

But before any such disaster can occur, Sylvain’s hand pulls away. Although Felix lets out a mental sigh of relief, he also notices how cold his skin feels at the absence of Sylvain’s touch. 

Strangely, though, Sylvain doesn’t move back. Or at least, Felix doesn’t hear him turn over onto his bedroll again. He can still sense the comforting warmth of Sylvain beside him, and it takes all his control not to move closer to it. 

Apparently he doesn’t need to, anyway––because now he feels Sylvain’s fingertips trail across his forehead, then trace idly to his hair, combing through some of the loose strands. 

Felix’s lungs seize up. Is Sylvain _petting his hair_ … ? But after Sylvain repeats the movement a few more times, at a slow and soothing pace, Felix finds himself easing into an almost trancelike state. He can’t recall a time he’s ever let someone touch his hair like this, and he wouldn’t have guessed it would feel this _nice_. 

As Sylvain’s ministrations continue, his hand stroking gently over the top of Felix’s head at the same calming rhythm, all of the tension in Felix’s body subsides. He practically melts against his bedroll, his heart rate slowing. 

He doesn’t realize how far he’s fallen into the hazy bliss until he makes a quiet, involuntary noise of satisfaction. It’s really nothing more than a content little sigh––something that could easily be mistaken for a sound he’d make in his sleep. Nonetheless, Sylvain’s hand freezes and Felix snaps back to alertness, his pulse skipping with panic. 

But one moment passes and then another, and Sylvain doesn’t say anything or show any indication that he thinks Felix has woken up. In fact, it’s quite the contrary––because he resumes the movement, his hand running over Felix’s hair a few more times before it slows to a stop.

There’s a short pause, in which Sylvain’s fingers hover in place, and Felix is fairly certain he’s about to pull away … but then he hears the quiet rustling of movement, feels one of Sylvain’s knees bump against his leg, and realizes that Sylvain is moving even _closer_ to him. 

And then, just as he felt it once before, there’s the light pressure on his forehead as Sylvain plants a kiss against it. 

Unlike the one that preceded it, this is more than just a quick brush. It’s slow and deliberate, like a brand against his skin. It only lasts a second or two––but then instead of pulling back, Sylvain stays there, lips lingering so close to Felix’s forehead that Felix can still feel their phantom warmth.

He remains there for what feels like forever, breaths warming Felix’s skin. Then he says something, barely more than a murmur so it’s hard to decipher the words, but Felix could swear it sounds like, “… Not gonna leave you.” Sylvain seals the declaration with yet another soft kiss, right below Felix’s hairline. “Promise.” 

The sound of his voice, low and gentle, makes a sudden warmth bloom in Felix’s chest. He suddenly wishes he had the courage to open his eyes, to tilt his face up, to return Sylvain’s whispered promise just like he did all those years ago. 

But he remains frozen, paralyzed with uncertainty, until he feels Sylvain pull back. Felix hears him lie down and let out a quiet sigh, and then there’s complete stillness. 

The cold envelops him immediately, and Felix suppresses a shudder. He still can’t move, even though his current position is becoming uncomfortable and he feels as if ants are crawling all over his skin. 

After lying there and counting his own breaths for an absurdly long time, long enough that he assumes Sylvain has fallen asleep, he cracks his eyes open. Felix’s heart still thrashes against his ribcage. He clutches a hand over his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his blanket, as if that will contain the wild feeling from fighting its way out. 

He turns his head the slightest bit. The moon has risen higher overhead, illuminating the inside of the tent with a faint silver glow, and Felix can see the barest outline of Sylvain’s form lying next to him. He’s lying on his side, turned away from Felix, breathing evenly in his sleep. 

Even though he’s only about an arm’s length away, it feels like a mile. Felix has an unexpected urge to reach across that distance and grab him by the shoulder, to shake him awake and demand to know what the hell Sylvain was thinking and what all _that_ meant. 

Instead, he lies still as if weighed down with stones. He mentally runs through everything that just happened about a dozen times, analyzing every detail with careful scrutiny––but no matter what angle he approaches it from, none of it makes any sense. 

It’s a long, long time before he falls asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felix tests his theory that sylvain will only show him affection if he thinks felix is asleep. but things don’t exactly go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y’all! firstly, wow thanks so much for 150+ kudos so far and all of your support & kind comments! i was not expecting the first chapter to get as much attention as it did, so i’m just very happy and excited. :’) 
> 
> anyway, on to chapter 2: electric boogaloo!
> 
> \- this chapter is about 8k words  
> \- it’s a lot angstier than the first chapter lol sorry (no i’m not)  
> \- i don’t think there’s anything i really need to warn for…? there’s some vague description of violence at the very beginning but that’s about it. of course, if there’s anything else you think i should add a warning for you can always let me know! 
> 
> thank you again to my wonderful betas: [ang](https://twitter.com/stelllalights), [jessie](https://twitter.com/parchmints), [miranda](https://twitter.com/mirmirthepanda), and [noelle](https://twitter.com/genericdancer) ♡

Felix is officially confused. 

At least the mission provides a temporary distraction. It ends up being a bit more of a mess than the professor anticipated; even more bandits have swarmed the village since the initial plea for help reached the monastery. 

There are a couple of close calls––Annette nearly gets stabbed in the back by a burly man with a sword before Sylvain skewers him with a lance at the last second, and Dedue takes an arrow to the shoulder trying to shield the boar from a rooftop archer. But things could have been a lot worse.

Once they return to Garreg Mach, however, Felix has a difficult time sorting through the thoughts swarming around his head. Specifically, thoughts about Sylvain. 

Days pass, and Sylvain acts as if nothing has changed at all––which probably further proves the point that Felix is overthinking it. Yet, thoughts of the other night keep haunting him, resurfacing and tormenting him relentlessly. 

It doesn't help that he and Sylvain spend a great deal of time together––in class, in training, studying together in the afternoon, eating meals in the dining hall. Each interaction is like a puzzle that Felix is struggling to sort out––one where he doesn't have all the pieces.

He's been subtly observing Sylvain's behavior for any hint of change, but as far as he can tell, Sylvain hasn't been treating him any differently. Not once has he mentioned anything that happened in the tent the night before their mission: not their conversation, and certainly not the way he kissed Felix on the forehead while he was supposedly asleep. _Again_.

But that doesn’t stop Felix from thinking about it. And, to his humiliation, he thinks about it a great deal. 

At night, he lies awake remembering the caress of Sylvain’s fingers against the side of his face, the light pressure of Sylvain’s lips on his skin. At first his train of thought doesn’t go beyond that. He merely recalls what happened, puzzling over what it all means. 

But he soon finds that he can’t contain the buzzing curiosity in his veins … something that he suspects has been lying latent for a long time, even if he never dared to acknowledge it. 

Now it presents itself in embarrassing fantasies. Lying in the dark solitude of his room, he imagines the memory in a different reality––one where he opened his eyes as soon as he felt Sylvain’s hand against his face, where he turned his head and pressed his lips to Sylvain’s palm. He imagines Sylvain’s sharp intake of breath, imagines him trailing kisses from Felix’s forehead down the side of his face and to his mouth … 

The first time he pictures such a thing, it startles him so much that he almost bolts upright in bed. It feels like walking backwards off a cliff, the ground suddenly disappearing from beneath his feet and leaving him with nothing to grasp onto as he falls. 

And so, all he can do is keep falling. 

He allows these thoughts to keep invading his mind, even though he’s ashamed of how they make his blood run hot, how they make a heavy feeling curl in the pit of his stomach … something that feels like an odd mixture of desire and dread. 

Whenever he can feel his imagination slipping out of his control––which it seems to do quite often now––he immediately tries to reel it in again, squeezing his eyes closed and burying his face in his pillow like that will literally shut out these delusions. 

He tries to tell himself that this is temporary. It’s just his curiosity getting the better of him. Or maybe it’s his lack of experience with physical intimacy––something he never even really knew he _wanted_ ––and he’s just projecting these newly-awakened desires on the first person who laid a hand on him. Whatever it is, it won’t be long before he lets go of this useless infatuation. 

Yet, there’s a consistent and nagging reminder at the back of his mind that he’s never had these types of fantasies about anyone else before. At least, not that he can remember. Ever since they reached adolescence and Sylvain started talking about girls all the time, Felix has wondered when he was going to start having those same wants, or _urges_ , or whatever the hell you call them. It always made him fear that something must be wrong with him. He’s tried, a handful of times, but every time he’s attempted to picture himself with a girl that way, it felt like someone was forcing him to swallow a bitter concoction.

But now, things are starting to piece together––which on the one hand, puts a lot of things into a new and enlightening perspective. On the other hand, it doesn’t matter, because nothing is going to come of it. Sylvain is obsessed with girls––girls exclusively, as far as Felix knows. Even if that wasn’t the case, there’s absolutely no chance he would feel that way about _Felix_ of all people. 

Even though he knows this, a stubborn seedling of hope roots itself in the center of Felix’s heart. As desperately as he tries to weed it out, its vines keep spreading with every time Sylvain shoots him a crooked smile, every time he speaks to Felix with that fond and teasing lilt to his voice.

It grows more apparent with each passing day, and soon Felix finds himself falling into the clutches of his imagination at the most inopportune times. Sylvain will be saying something in class, gesturing with his hands, and Felix will suddenly wonder what it would feel like to have those fingers tangled in his hair. He'll see Sylvain's smile across the room and wonder what it would feel like against his throat.

It's confusing, to say the least. But more importantly it's _distracting_ , and the last thing Felix needs is a distraction. He needs to focus on his studies, on his training, on ... anything besides these idiotic daydreams about his best friend kissing him. 

But the more he tries to escape from it, the more he finds himself drawn back in, as if entranced––seeking out ways to address the itching feeling in his heart, to at least find some evidence one way or the other so he can finally move on. 

Actually _asking_ Sylvain about it––asking if he ever thinks of the same things, even just asking if he ever thinks about boys that way in general––is of course, out of the question. Felix would rather fall on his own sword. So naturally, the only way to go about getting answers is to work with his hypothesis: that Sylvain's true affections for him only reveal themselves when he believes Felix is asleep. 

It's easier said than done, though, when there aren't many opportunities to pretend to be asleep in front of Sylvain. Even when it's possible, Felix can't do it _too_ much without raising suspicions. But if he can try maybe _one_ more time––or two or three––that should give him all the information he requires ... right? 

His next attempt occurs one late afternoon in the library, when they're both sitting at one of the tables and working on an assignment due in several days––an essay about different battle formations and the costs and benefits of each. 

In his usual fashion, Sylvain has already filled out almost an entire roll of parchment without even cracking open a book. No doubt, the professor will probably give him a perfect mark for it anyway. Meanwhile, Felix has been glancing between an open book and his own parchment––which only has about two sentences written on it so far––and is starting to get a headache. 

It doesn't help that his gaze keeps trailing involuntarily upwards, sneaking glances at Sylvain across the table. Sylvain takes no notice, propping his chin up on one hand, tapping a finger against his jaw, while his other hand scribbles away at the parchment with his quill. As always, the top couple buttons of his shirt are undone and Felix's attention wanders to the bared skin there, where a hint of collarbone is showing ... 

Felix tears his eyes away again, his face growing warm as he glares down at his unfinished essay. He lets out a long, heavy sigh. 

"Doing okay, Felix?" 

He looks up to find Sylvain watching him, an amused twinkle in his amber eyes. His mouth turns up at one corner in a smirk. Something about the expression makes Felix's blood turn to fire, makes him want to jump across the table and grab Sylvain by the collar and slap that smug look off his face. Or kiss it off, maybe. 

The latter thought makes him look down abruptly, trying his best to hide his inevitable blush. His jaw clenches as he puts his quill down. 

"It's nothing," he mutters. "Just trying to think." 

"Hmm." Sylvain lifts his chin from his hand and cranes his neck to look over at Felix's parchment. "Looks like you haven't gotten very far. Are you stuck? Need any––" 

"I _don't_ need your help." It comes out with a little more bite than Felix intended. He doesn't look up, but he sees Sylvain lean back in his chair. Felix rubs at his temples. "I’m sorry. My head hurts." 

He didn't mean to say that last part out loud, but it’s at least an excuse to change the subject. Maybe it was the wrong choice, though, since Sylvain instantly sits up straight in alarm––which is understandable, since Felix rarely admits to pain of any kind.

"It does? Are you okay? We don't need to keep studying if––"

"I'm fine. Just tired." As soon as the words leave Felix’s mouth, a sudden idea occurs to him. An idiotic one, probably, but ... “Think I’ll put my head down for a few minutes, then get back to work.”

He tries to say it as nonchalantly as possible. But even so, Sylvain frowns at him. 

“You sure you’re feeling alright?” 

“Yes,” Felix snaps. “Now be quiet and leave me alone.” 

Sylvain slouches back in his chair in surrender and goes back to working in silence. Felix takes this as his cue to lean his crossed arms on the table and lay his head down. 

Truthfully, it _does_ help to relieve his headache somewhat. He closes his eyes and stays that way for a while, watching blurry shapes shift and dissipate behind his eyelids. Across from him, he hears the occasional scratch of Sylvain’s quill against the parchment, but the pace of his writing has slowed down. 

Felix slips into a gradual daze, although he remains conscious of any sound in the stillness of the library.

Which is how he hears, after some time, Sylvain saying his name.

Although his instinct is to look up, Felix keeps his head down. Maybe if he waits a bit longer …

There’s a pause, and then a faint dragging noise across the surface of the table, like Sylvain is pushing one of his books aside. Then, the slight weight of a hand resting on Felix’s forearm. 

A prickling sensation runs up all the way to Felix’s shoulder from the point of contact, but he doesn’t move, not even when Sylvain’s grip tightens. 

“Felix?” His voice is quiet, rasping with a note of hesitation. He shakes Felix’s arm––gently at first, and then with more urgency. “Hey. _Felix_.”

The second time he says Felix’s name, it comes out sounding more alarmed, which immediately sparks Felix’s attention. His ruse forgotten, he opens his eyes and lifts his head. 

“What is it?” He glances around the library as if expecting to see an approaching enemy, but no one is there except for the two of them. 

Sylvain stares at him. He seems to realize that he’s still holding onto Felix’s arm and quickly lets go. 

“Nothing, just … you weren’t waking up. You worried me for a second there.” He studies Felix’s face, a small furrow forming in his brow. “Are you sick or something?” 

He starts to lean forward again to press the back of his hand against Felix’s forehead, but Felix panics and whacks his hand away. 

“No, I’m not sick. Will you stop fussing over me?” 

“I––” Sylvain starts to say, but then his shoulders sag in resignation. “Okay, I’m sorry.” He hesitates and bites his lip. “But listen, you can tell me if something is wrong. I know it’s almost––”

Once again he stops himself, his gaze suddenly dropping to the surface of the table. 

Felix glares at him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Felix insists, “Nothing is wrong.”

Apparently it's convincing enough. Or at least, it seems like Sylvain doesn't want to argue anymore. His mouth sets in a line as he fiddles with his quill. "Alright, I get it. I'm just saying, though ... I'm always here to listen."

Felix isn't sure what he's getting at, so he maintains his usual scowl. But Sylvain is looking at him with such an earnest and somewhat worried look, and it makes a small crack begin to form in Felix's hard exterior.

"I know," he says––and it comes out a bit more softly than he means it to. He looks down at his book again. "Anyway, enough idle chatter. Get back to work." 

Usually, such comments draw at least an amused chuckle out of Sylvain, but right now he's strangely silent. Even as Felix returns to working on his assignment, he can feel Sylvain's eyes on him, and it makes the back of his scalp prickle. But before he can snap at Sylvain to stop staring at him, he hears a quiet sigh and the light scrape of a quill against parchment again.

Felix tries to ignore the warmth of humiliation that has risen to his face, as they both return to working.

After that embarrassing, failed attempt in the library, Felix tries to convince himself that he should give up. It was a foolish endeavor to begin with, and he should have accepted from the beginning that Sylvain's occasional displays of affection are completely platonic.

Yet, that doesn't stop him from making one final effort when the next chance arises. 

_Just this one last time_ , he tells himself firmly, when the two of them are studying one night in his room again. _Then you can give up this idiotic experiment once and for all_. 

This time, they're both sitting on the floor with several books laid out between them. Sylvain seems unusually absorbed in studying––as seems to be the case more and more often these days––and Felix keeps looking up to sneak glimpses of him. Sylvain pays him no attention. 

When he's certain Sylvain isn't looking, Felix subtly leans back until his head rests against the edge of the bed behind him. He closes his eyes and tries to assume a relaxed position, inhaling and exhaling slowly to mimic the breathing patterns of sleep. 

Minutes pass, and there's no discernible reaction from Sylvain. Felix can feel an irritated frown rising to his face, and he only barely manages to school his expression back to something neutral before Sylvain can notice. He just needs to be patient. 

But after a while of maintaining the same position, Felix's neck is starting to feel stiff and Sylvain still doesn't seem to take any notice. Either that, or he doesn't care. 

Felix is just beginning to think up ways he might draw Sylvain's attention without dropping his act entirely––maybe pretending to snore, or something like that––when he hears a faint shuffling noise across from him, like Sylvain is moving a few books around. 

The noise cuts off abruptly, and Felix thinks he hears Sylvain inhale as if he's about to speak ... but then, nothing. Sylvain doesn’t say a word, doesn’t speak Felix’s name to see if he’s still awake. 

Through his eyelids, Felix can see a shadow moving, and his heart lurches in anticipation … but then, he quickly realizes Sylvain isn’t moving any closer. There’s a long silence, then the rustling resumes, followed by the sound of footsteps against the floorboards. 

Another pause ensues, in which there’s no noise or sign of movement. It takes all of Felix’s willpower not to hold his breath, not to let a single muscle in his body so much as twitch. 

But then the tension in the air shatters as Sylvain releases a short sigh. His footfalls creak against the floor again––but instead of moving closer, they begin to retreat. 

Felix almost lifts his head, almost blows his cover to call after Sylvain––but it’s already too late. By the time he opens his eyes, it’s just in time to see the door shut with a _thud_ and Felix realizes he’s alone in the room. 

It doesn’t sink in right away. Felix keeps staring at the closed door as if he could see right through the wood, or as if he’ll somehow summon Sylvain back inside. But when it’s clear that Sylvain isn’t coming back, a cold feeling curls in Felix’s stomach. 

With a groan, he leans forward and scrubs his hands over his face. When he opens his eyes again, he’s surprised to find them stinging––probably from exhaustion, he tells himself. 

As he blinks a few more times, he notices an object lying on the floor a few feet away from him. One of Sylvain’s books. Cautiously, as if he’s afraid it’s some kind of cursed relic, he reaches out and picks it up. 

He holds the book in his hands, letting his fingers run over the leather-bound cover. Of course, he _could_ always go after Sylvain and return the book, but right now the thought of facing Sylvain somehow makes him feel painfully humiliated. 

Felix keeps a firm grip on the book, trying his best to swallow down the bitter sensation clawing its way up into his chest. _Foolish_ , he silently admonishes himself. He’s been treating this whole situation like a childish game from the beginning, and he knew he was only setting himself up for disappointment the entire time. Yet, he still somehow has the nerve to feel upset. 

His jaw clenches, and he sets the book aside. He can return it to Sylvain in the morning. For now, he needs to go to sleep and let go of his ridiculous fantasies. 

However, that sense of resolve doesn’t last into the next day. Felix doesn’t know why he still stubbornly clings to a blind hope, but there’s a small fluttering feeling behind his sternum when he sets out looking for Sylvain a short while after breakfast.

Even the thought of seeing Sylvain’s face makes Felix’s heart do a strange flip in his chest––which is stupid, because he sees Sylvain’s face pretty much every single day. But during the past few weeks, it’s been … different. 

He keeps reminding himself, though, that it doesn’t matter. He’s already proven to himself that Sylvain doesn’t return Felix’s meaningless feelings––which is fine, because he knew they were unrequited to begin with. Yet, some wishful part of him keeps wondering if maybe Sylvain left the book behind on purpose, whether he wanted Felix to seek him out. 

If that’s the case, Sylvain has done a very good job of hiding himself. He doesn’t answer when Felix knocks on his bedroom door, nor is he in any of the places Felix searches for him––not the dining hall, or the courtyard outside the Officers Academy, or near the fishing pond. 

After searching almost the entire monastery grounds with the heavy book still tucked under his arm, Felix is on the verge of giving up. As a last resort, he walks all the way up to the cathedral on the off chance he’ll find Sylvain there––even though Sylvain doesn’t pray often, as far as Felix is aware. 

As expected, there’s no sign of Sylvain when Felix wanders into the cavernous room. Dust motes dance in the rays of sunlight that filter through the tall windows, and about a dozen people are scattered throughout the wide open space, seated in the pews or praying near the altar. But as Felix surveys his surroundings one last time for a telltale shock of red hair, he doesn’t see anything noteworthy. 

He walks between the rows of pews on his way towards the balcony. As he’s about to walk past the altar, he spots Mercedes standing there with her head bowed and her hands clasped. Not wanting to disturb her, Felix tries to sidle past as quietly as possible. But just then, she lifts her head and looks right at him. 

“Oh! Good morning, Felix.” She blinks her large blue eyes at him and tilts her head, a soft smile rising to her face. “Did you come here to pray?” 

There’s nothing pushy or accusatory about her question, just innocent curiosity. If it was anyone else, Felix would come back with some retort about how prayer is useless. He used to believe things happened for a reason––and that belief was crushed four years ago. But he knows Mercedes is only trying to make polite conversation and that her beliefs are important to her. 

“No,” Felix admits. “I was just looking for someone, that’s all.” 

“I see. Who were you looking for? Was it Sylvain, by any chance?” 

_How did she …_? Felix feels an immediate heat rush to his face, and he hopes it isn’t too conspicuous in the cathedral’s dim lighting.

“Yes, actually.” He tries to sound as casual as possible, although he looks sharply away as he says it. “I need to return this book to him. Have you seen him?”

Mercedes nods. “I saw him when I was on my way here. I’m not sure where he was going, but it looked like he was headed towards the stables.” 

Felix frowns. He’s pretty sure he already checked the stables, but maybe he didn’t look hard enough. After muttering a thank you to Mercedes, he leaves the cathedral and walks back along the bridge.

As he nears the stables, he looks casually around for any sign of Sylvain. There aren't many people around––just a small group of students conversing nearby, and a knight kneeling down and clearing away some of the hay on the ground.

Felix walks past the long row of stalls. Some of the horses stick their heads out, watching him with their big curious eyes. But he still doesn't see Sylvain anywhere. 

With a short sigh, Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. "Forget it," he grumbles to himself. He's clearly wasting his time. He'll just have to wait until the next time he sees Sylvain, or maybe he'll hand the book over to Byleth. The professor does seem to enjoy running around returning lost items to everyone, after all. 

Just as he's starting to walk away, though, he notices a hint of movement in the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Felix pauses in his tracks, noticing a flash of red hair. 

But his momentary excitement sputters out when he sees that there are a pair of hands tangled in that hair … hands that belong to a girl that Sylvain is pressing up against the wall and kissing.

It's not like this is the first time Felix has witnessed such an occurrence. Far from it. He can't even _count_ the number of times he's stumbled upon Sylvain with a girl. It's always been accompanied by a twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach that he always mistook for annoyance or disgust. And, well, perhaps it's both of those things. 

But right at this unfortunate moment, Felix realizes that it's predominantly _envy_. Maybe it always has been. 

This time, it hits him harder than it ever has. He's used to the slight sense of nausea––but not this sensation like the ground has fallen out from under his feet, or like he's been punched so hard in the chest that he can't breathe. 

Although he knows he should look away, he can't seem to stop staring––watching as Sylvain reaches up to cup the girl's face with one hand, running his thumb along her jaw and angling his head to kiss her more deeply. 

All Felix can think about, numbly, is how many times in the past few weeks he's imagined Sylvain holding him like that and kissing him like that and––Goddess, he suddenly feels so ashamed, so _foolish_. He should've known, after all those years of suppressing those feelings, that he should've kept them hidden deep in the recesses of his heart and never allowed them to escape. 

He needs to get out of here. He's certainly seen enough, and he doesn't want to get caught standing there and gawking like an imbecile. But he finds he's unusually unsteady on his feet––and when he takes a clumsy step backwards, the scrape of his heel against the ground sounds like a thunderclap.

Every curse word known to mankind races through his head. He prays that the sound was inaudible, but that hope is quickly shot down as the girl abruptly breaks off the kiss and looks right at Felix. 

A shock of panic runs through him like a lightning bolt. He doesn’t recognize the girl, which is typically the case when he stumbles upon one of Sylvain’s trysts––it’s never the same girl twice. Yet, the girl glares at him as if Felix is her lifelong nemesis, her brown eyes narrowing. 

“What are you staring at, you creep?” she snaps. 

The words have barely left her mouth before Sylvain’s shoulders tense and he turns around. 

Felix’s ears ring. He knows he should turn around and walk away, but something keeps him stubbornly rooted to the spot, glaring right at Sylvain as if challenging him to a fight. 

The look on Sylvain’s face is … difficult to read. At first, he just blinks at Felix in bewilderment, but the expression is quickly replaced by something unexpected––a stony look in his eyes like he’s trying to hide some other emotion from surfacing. 

Maybe Felix imagined it, because right away Sylvain breaks into the usual lopsided, sheepish grin that he bears every time Felix catches him in a situation like this. Somehow, it feels like a dagger between Felix’s ribs. 

When Felix doesn’t just roll his eyes and walk away like he usually does, Sylvain’s smile falters. He turns to mutter something to the girl that Felix can’t hear, but he sees the way her eyes widen and then narrow again into an indignant pout. She crosses her arms and glares daggers at Felix––but Felix barely notices, because Sylvain is walking right towards him. 

Felix feels like a cornered animal, his mind yelling at him to run but his body frozen with terror. He tightens his grasp on the book tucked under his arm. 

Meanwhile, Sylvain saunters towards him casually as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He runs a hand over his disheveled hair, coming to a stop a couple of feet away like he senses that Felix doesn’t want him to come any closer. 

“Hey, Felix,” he says with ease, but the last trace of his smile vanishes as he takes in the look on Felix’s face. “Is something wrong?” 

Something in Sylvain’s tone––the gentle concern that verges on pity––suddenly makes Felix’s blood run hot. His mouth feels dry when he tries to speak, but he can’t even find the words to answer Sylvain’s question. 

Instead, he just holds the book out in front of him. “Here,” he says tersely. “You left this in my room.” 

It sounds pathetic even to his own ears, and his shame only deepens when Sylvain looks down at the book and then back up again with a mystified frown. 

“Uh, thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’m kinda busy right now.” He glances over his shoulder as he says it, towards the girl––who’s still standing in the alleyway and has her hands on her hips as she watches them. 

“I can see that,” Felix says, but he doesn’t budge. 

Sylvain says nothing, like he’s expecting Felix to speak again. When that isn’t the case, he lets out a short sigh. “So … can we do this later? Or, I don’t know, could you just leave the book in front of my door or something?” 

Rationally, Felix knows that either of those things is a reasonable request. But for some reason, it makes him feel as if some vital cord inside of him has snapped. He can feel himself unraveling, and he’s afraid that if he even so much as opens his mouth, he’ll come apart. 

Without a word, he drops the book on the dusty ground at Sylvain’s feet. 

He turns on his heel, just as he hears Sylvain let out an indignant exclamation of “Hey, that’s a _library_ book!” followed by a confused “Felix? … Felix!” 

But Felix doesn’t turn around––just continues marching away. He knows Sylvain won’t follow him. He’ll choose the girl first … always the girl. 

Yet, when he doesn’t hear any footsteps coming after him, it hurts more than he expected it to. It’s like a door slamming shut and locking in his face, barring him from the only shred of hope he had left. 

At first, he doesn’t know where he’s going, only that he needs to put as much distance between himself and Sylvain as possible. He considers going to the training grounds, but instead takes a sharp turn and heads back in the direction of the dormitories. 

He doesn’t slow down until he’s in his room again, slamming the door firmly behind him and falling back against it. Breaths heave raggedly in and out of his lungs––partly from the exertion of walking all the way across the monastery grounds, but also from the effort of trying to contain the painful feeling trying to rip its way out of his chest. 

_Weak_ , an inner voice scoffs at him. The same voice that plagues him every time he falls short of his own expectations, every time he slips up and lets an opponent get the better of him. There’s no room for weakness, there’s too great a risk in letting even the smallest crack form in his armor. 

But he’s failed. After four years of telling himself he would never fall prey to worthless emotions again––that they would only be his downfall, that they would only lead to devastation in the end––he’s gone and fallen victim to the one emotion that, above all others, he swore he would never succumb to. 

And now the dam has broken, letting forth an onslaught of feelings that he’s been desperately trying to fight off. Memories and images crowd into his mind, like an army of enemies ambushing him from all sides. 

The hazy golden days of childhood, the security of Sylvain’s arms around him every time he was upset, a crooked smile and a bright laugh … the little furrow in Sylvain’s brow when he’s thinking or studying, the blaze of determination in his eyes every time he’s about to throw himself in an enemy’s path to protect one of his friends. 

Felix loves him. 

The revelation feels like more of a death sentence than anything else––an insufferable fate that he has resigned himself to. Especially because, at the same time, he realizes the other painful truth that he’s been trying to run from. 

Sylvain does not love him back.

At least, not in the same way. Felix doesn’t doubt that Sylvain cares about him as a friend … but it’s never going to be anything other than that. It’s always going to be Sylvain chasing after one woman or another, until he eventually settles down and marries. 

Felix has always known that would be the reality but has never quite been able to accept it. The thought of Sylvain marrying someone has always left him with a hollow feeling like a hole punched in his chest, and for years he thought it was just the fear of growing up and drifting apart from his best friend.

But now he sees, with bitter clarity, that the true reason it pains him so much is that it sickens him to think of Sylvain settling down with someone who doesn’t really love him, marrying some woman who only values him for his nobility and his Crest. Sylvain deserves so much more than that. He deserves someone who cares about him as a _person_ , who would remain at his side no matter what. 

And though Felix knows he himself possesses both of those attributes, it doesn’t matter. No matter how much he cares for Sylvain, desires his affections, _loves_ him … it won’t change the fact that Sylvain will never reciprocate those feelings. 

Felix pulls his knees up to his chest and crosses his arms over them. He’s humiliated to find that his eyes are stinging, and he angrily wipes the back of his hand across them. He thought he had outgrown crying like a child, yet here he is on the verge of tears over something as trivial as love and _marriage_ , of all things? Repulsive. 

There’s no use in sulking over it. At least, that’s what Felix keeps telling himself. But that doesn’t prevent him from remaining there, sitting back against the door, burying his forehead against his crossed arms as he tries to control his breathing. 

After some time–– _far too long_ , Felix scolds himself––he gathers his wits again and forces himself back up onto his feet. There. He allowed himself several minutes of self-pity and now he’s done. It’s time to take that momentary glimmer of weakness and bury it deep down where no one will ever see it. _Especially_ not Sylvain. 

It’s easier said than done. Felix tries his best to distract himself as the hours pass, but even studying or training can’t seem to hold his attention. Even the smallest setback makes him want to scream. And despite how many times he tries to trample out that aching feeling, it resurfaces again and again throughout the day, like a wound that keeps reopening no matter how many times he tries to clumsily stitch it closed. 

Finally, as the end of the day draws near, he’s starting to think a bit more rationally again––at least, enough that he begins to regret his earlier actions. Maybe he should apologize to Sylvain … _maybe_. But also, the thought of having to try and rationalize his behavior makes his skin crawl. On second thought, maybe it’s best for Sylvain to believe that Felix was being his usual bad-tempered self and leave it at that. 

So, he moves onto his next best plan, which is to avoid Sylvain at all costs––at least until he overcomes this ... whatever it is. Dare he call it _heartache_? Ugh. 

However, his execution of this plan does not work out the way he hoped. 

He arrives at the dining hall early in the evening, with the intention to eat dinner as quickly as he can before Sylvain arrives. He nearly succeeds at this endeavor. But naturally, right as he's finishing his meal, he catches sight of a familiar figure entering the room.

Even if it weren't for the bright red hair, Felix could probably recognize Sylvain by his body language alone––his leisurely pace and the distinctive swing in his step, the way he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck as he surveys the room, searching for someone. Probably that girl he was with earlier. Or knowing him, maybe another girl entirely. 

Felix swallows his last bite of food, which suddenly tastes bitter in his mouth. He ducks his head down in hopes that Sylvain won't see him, standing up and lifting his plate. 

Of course, just as he's about to turn around, he hears Sylvain's exclamation across the room. "Felix!"

Pretending not to hear, Felix turns around. He's already near the back exit, and he deposits his plate into the nearby washbasin before marching out into the courtyard.

He expects that to be the end of it, but a heavy knot of dread forms in his stomach when he hears a pair of footsteps racing after him. "Felix, _hey_."

A hand touches his arm, and something inside Felix snaps. He had intended to walk away, but he finds himself turning around so fast that Sylvain almost crashes into him. 

"Whoa." Sylvain takes a step back, holding his hands up defensively.

Felix can't exactly blame him, once he realizes the tense stance he's taken––his hands curled into fists at his sides, how he's glaring at Sylvain as if in a silent challenge. "What do you want?" he demands. 

Strangely, that seems to break the tension somewhat––maybe simply because Felix's attitude is something Sylvain is used to dealing with. The corner of Sylvain's mouth turns up a bit in what seems to be an attempt at a reassuring smile. 

"Hey, relax," he says with a calmness that's almost irritating. "I just want to talk for a second, that's all."

Right now, Felix would rather have an axe swung at his head than _talk_. At least in battle he knows how to duck and avoid a blade, how to deliver a killing blow of his own. Holding a difficult conversation, though ... that's somehow a hundred times more terrifying. 

He could outright refuse, of course. But something about the way Sylvain is looking at him, something about the hint of vulnerability under the veil of confidence, stops Felix from turning away. 

"Talk about what?" he grits out at last, crossing his arms. 

Sylvain still has his hands held up like he expects Felix to attack him, but now he lets them fall to his sides.

"Nothing, just ... what's gotten into you? You've been acting like––" He stops himself, apparently noticing the way Felix bristles at the words. "I don't know, it seems like you're mad at me. I just want to know why."

He doesn’t sound demanding or angry. Felix almost wishes that he did, because he knows how to fight fire with fire. But he doesn’t know how to deal with _this_ , doesn’t know how to respond to the genuine tone of Sylvain’s voice, the hint of a plea lurking underneath his question. 

Felix keeps his arms stubbornly crossed. He tears his gaze away from Sylvain to stare at the vines crawling up the stone wall next to them. 

It’s not like he can tell Sylvain the truth. _I’m not mad at you_ , he imagines himself saying. _I’m mad at myself for falling for you, even though I knew you’d never feel the same way about me_. _There, are you happy?_ The very thought makes his skin prickle. 

“Felix––” Sylvain starts to say, when Felix still hasn’t said anything. 

“You want to know why I’m mad?” Felix cuts him off. He can feel the usual flare of heat in his veins, the instinct to fall back on his anger because it’s the only thing he knows. “Because you never take anything seriously.” 

It sounds lame to his own ears, and he knows it’s the argument he always defaults to, but at least it’s safer than letting his true feelings slip out. 

Sylvain pauses as if expecting Felix to say more. But when the silence only stretches out, Sylvain lets out a weary sigh and pushes his fingers through his hair. 

“Really, that’s it? Come on, we’ve been over this a million times. You know that’s not true.” 

“It’s not? Then how come you haven’t changed at all? You’re still constantly neglecting your training just to mess around with girls.” 

At that, Sylvain’s expression darkens. A few seconds ago there was still a trace of warmth in his gaze, like he wanted to make peace, but now a steely look settles into his eyes. He places a hand on his hip. 

“So that’s what this is about, huh?” He huffs out a noise that sounds almost like a humorless laugh. 

Felix knows he’s dug himself into a hole now, and all his instincts are begging him to turn and run as fast as he can. But he remains rooted to the spot, staring Sylvain down, waiting for whatever empty excuse he’s about to give. 

Sylvain looks away for a couple of seconds, but it feels like an eternity. He seems to mull over his options before he finally says, "There's more to life than training constantly, you know."

"Are you even listening to yourself? We're always putting our lives on the line, and people depend on us to protect them. How can you think that training doesn't matter?"

"I didn't––" Sylvain starts to say, then lets out a frustrated groan. He rubs a hand against his forehead. "You know that's not what I meant. Yes, training is important, but you don't need to be focusing on it day and day out. I know you don't want to hear this, but one of these days, you're going to reach your limit. You know that, right?"

Felix's jaw clenches. It's not like he needs to be _reminded_ that he has limits. He knows that, and is painfully reminded of it every time he suffers an injury, every time he trains until he's lightheaded. Every time he falters, he closes his eyes and sees the image of his brother standing over him, haloed in sunlight and laughing as he draws his wooden training sword away from Felix's throat and offers down a hand to help him up. _"Not bad, Felix. One of these days you might even beat me."_ Felix never did.

His throat suddenly feels tight but he manages to say, "At least I know where my priorities lie. I'd rather work myself to the bone than be wasting my time with useless philandering." 

He doesn't expect the way Sylvain almost flinches at the word, his eyes narrowing and a muscle twitching in his jaw. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. "I hate when you get like this," he mutters before continuing, "Felix, listen. I'm not trying to argue with you, and I don't know what I did to upset you. But frankly, it's none of your business how I spend my time. Can't we just ... move on from this?" 

Now would probably be the time to back down, to call a truce and leave it at that. But unfortunately, Felix has never been one to admit defeat.

"Actually," he says, taking a step forward, "it _is_ my business. Because in case you forgot, we're in the same class. And if you're not sufficiently prepared for battle––" 

"Just stop right there," Sylvain cuts him off. He has both hands on his hips now, glaring down at Felix––which only makes Felix acutely aware of their height difference, but he keeps his chin defiantly raised as he glares back. "That's not really what this is about, is it?" 

Sylvain's question catches him off-guard, and Felix can feel his frown waver for a split second before he recovers it again. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how you're not actually angry at me for slacking off. You're _jealous_." 

The world seems to lurch under Felix's feet, but somehow he stays upright. His mouth has suddenly gone dry. "Jealous?" he repeats, hardly able to hear his own voice through the ringing in his ears. He tries to collect himself, standing his ground. "What the hell do you mean? Jealous of _what_?" 

"Of ... I don't know, that I actually allow myself to have a good time once in a while? That I don't spend literally all my time with you?" Sylvain throws his hands up in exasperation before letting them fall again. "We're not little kids anymore, Felix. You can't keep following me around all the time and expect me to just drop everything and pay attention to you." 

His voice has risen to the point where a few other students around the courtyard are staring at them now. Through the open door of the dining hall behind Sylvain, even some of the people waiting in line for dinner are leaning over to peer outside and watch the argument unfold.

But Felix is only marginally aware of the gawking onlookers. Even though he's standing outside, he feels as if he's suddenly in a tight enclosed space, like walls are closing in around him. Sylvain's words echo in his head, digging deep like sharp talons. 

"None of them care about you," Felix says before he can stop himself. 

Sylvain's frown vanishes. One moment his brow is furrowed in indignation, and the next his eyes widen. "What?" he says, voice going quiet. 

"The girls. They're all just after your wealth or your Crest or whatever, and you know it. _Everyone_ knows it. So why do you keep wasting your time on them?" 

He comes to a stop, breathless from his outburst, and ... oh. Oh, no. His stomach drops when he sees the shocked look on Sylvain's face, how the color has drained from his skin, how there's a glassy look to his eyes. 

Felix thought the only way he knew how to deliver a killing blow was with a blade ... but maybe he was wrong about that. 

Sylvain is deadly silent, his pained expression hardening again as his mouth sets into a line. He draws in a breath as if he's about to fight back, but then he just shakes his head and looks away.

"I'll see you around, Felix." 

The edges of Felix's vision are hazy with panic as he realizes he went too far, as he grasps for the right words to form an apology.

But it feels as if there's already a mile of distance between them, and Sylvain doesn't even spare him another glance as he turns around and trudges back into the dining hall. Judging by the clipped way he spoke and the stiff posture of his shoulders, he doesn't want Felix to follow. 

So Felix doesn't.

Instead, he watches helplessly as Sylvain turns the corner and disappears from sight. Some of the students waiting in line watch him in curiosity, then a few of them glance outside in Felix's direction as if they're trying to piece together what just transpired. 

But Felix doesn't want to give strangers the satisfaction of witnessing his misery. He turns sharply around, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. As he marches away, he glares at the ground and tries to ignore the stares and whispers of the scattered bystanders in the courtyard. 

He can't even bring himself to feel angry that people are looking at him. Maybe it's what he deserves. 

Because not only has he ruined the very slim chance of anything _happening_ between him and Sylvain ... but he probably also just lost his best friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> noooo don’t fight you’re in love! :’’( anyway sorry this chapter ends on such a sad note lol, but hey GOOD NEWS chapter 3 will be posted early because turns out i will be away next friday. soooo i’m aiming to post the next chapter on wednesday or thursday maybe, we shall see. 
> 
> coming up next week: the anniversary of a tragic event––and the arrival of an unexpected visitor––force felix to confront some painful memories, and to turn to the person who knows him best. (hmm, i wonder who that could be?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> following their argument, felix and sylvain haven’t spoken to each other … until the anniversary of a tragic event puts things into a new perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand i’m back! as promised, i’m publishing this chapter a little early because i’m going to be camping this weekend lol.
> 
> thank you for 200 kudos so far! so happy to see people enjoying the fic, and all of your kudos and comments mean a lot!! 
> 
> notes on this chapter:
> 
> \- this is the longest one so far (about 9.7k)  
> \- this chapter is prooobably the most heavy on canon spoilers, mostly concerning the tragedy of duscur and glenn’s death. also there’s some spoilers about the battle against miklan.   
> \- building off of that, just wanted to give a content warning for a lot of death mention in this chapter. in particular there’s some implication about glenn dying a grisly death––it’s very vague but wanted to warn for it anyways!   
> \- as always if there’s anything else you’d like me to add a warning for, just lemme know!
> 
> thank you to ang, jessie, and noelle for beta’ing this chapter for me! ♡

Some foolishly optimistic part of Felix's mind hopes that Sylvain will let the whole thing go––that the next day they'll see each other in class and Sylvain will smile easily at him and everything will go back to normal. Everything will be forgiven.

He has no such luck. 

When he walks into class the day after their argument, Sylvain takes one look at him and pointedly tears his gaze away, glaring down at the book on his desk with stony eyes. It stops Felix in his tracks so abruptly that Ashe bumps into him, then quickly apologizes and skirts around Felix to go find a seat.

Felix remains rooted to the spot. He doesn't realize how long he's been standing there until he notices Byleth is watching him with their usual indiscernible stare, tilting their head inquisitively. "Did you have a question, Felix?" 

Snapping out of it, Felix shakes his head. Heat rises to his face as he glares down at the floorboards. "No, Professor."

Without another word, he moves across the room to the desk furthest from Sylvain's, instead of sitting next to him like he typically does. He could swear he catches the professor looking between him and Sylvain with curiosity. But if they suspect anything, they don't say it out loud. As soon as all the students are seated, the lecture proceeds as usual. 

Byleth gestures to a diagram on the chalkboard behind them, which shows various different battle formations, and Felix attempts to at least take some notes. But he finds that his attention keeps wandering across the room to where Sylvain sits. He's not sure what he's hoping for––maybe to see if Sylvain is at least looking back at him. He isn’t. For the entire class period, Sylvain is either diligently taking notes or keeping his gaze fixed on the chalkboard.

It's a striking deviance from his normal behavior. He's usually quite vocal during their classroom sessions––leaning over to a nearby classmate to make a wry comment, asking a hundred questions, sometimes outright flirting with the professor in the middle of class. Felix would prefer any of those things––yes, even the last one––over this rigid and silent version of Sylvain that seems to have taken over.

After Byleth concludes their lecture, they begin taking students aside one by one to practice on their individual skills. While the professor is occupied working with one student at a time, the rest of the class works on summarizing today's lecture in their notes. 

Felix sits at his desk with his head down, forehead propped on his hand as he stares blankly down at his parchment. There are a few scattered notes and diagrams, and he tries to copy down a few more things from the chalkboard. But it's difficult to focus when he's distracted by the sight of Sylvain's bright hair and slouched posture in the corner of his vision.

Once again, their argument cycles through Felix's mind, and it makes a tight feeling settle in his chest. Instead of focusing on his notes, he keeps mentally trying to form an apology––but every time, the string of words unravels itself. 

On top of that, he keeps hearing Sylvain's voice in his head: _"You can't keep following me around all the time."_ It still stings, like a slap in the face that leaves a tingling pain behind. Felix's fingers clench around his quill. _Fine_ , he thinks bitterly. If Sylvain doesn't want Felix to bother him, then he won't. He won't say anything to Sylvain at all. 

"Felix?" 

He almost knocks over his inkwell, startled by the sound of Byleth's voice. He looks up to find the professor standing next to his desk; they have an uncanny ability to seemingly appear out of nowhere, and Felix doesn't think he'll ever grow accustomed to it. He sits up straight, trying to regain his composure. "Yes?" 

Maybe he imagines it, but he swears the corner of Byleth's mouth turns up a little in amusement. "Are you ready for our session? I called you a couple of times, but it seemed like you didn't hear." 

"Oh," Felix says flatly, then clears his throat as he gets to his feet. "Sorry, guess I was distracted." 

Luckily, Byleth doesn't pry any further, and Felix follows them towards the back corner of the classroom.

Today, the professor has him practicing Thoron––not at its full force of course, since he's nowhere near that stage yet. Magic isn't exactly his strong suit, but Byleth insists that Felix has potential in it. 

"Again," they insist for the third time, when the blue sparks immediately sputter and die at Felix's fingertips. Although their tone has a commanding edge to it, it's balanced by the patience in their steady gaze. 

When Felix first started learning from Byleth, he'd been taken aback by their personality––perturbed by this person who had such skill and authority despite being around his age. It had flared his usual competitive streak, his desire to best them in any way he could. But over time, it's become more of a sense of admiration, and an increasing drive to do better in order to meet the professor's expectations. 

Typically, he doesn't mind the way they push his limits, but today there's a tightening knot of frustration in Felix's chest that he can't seem to work past. Still, he tries to focus, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He can feel the inner flare of his Crest as he summons its power, the familiar warmth coursing up his arm and into his fingertips. 

He's at least a bit more successful this time, managing to produce a tiny bolt of electricity that twines between his fingers like a thin snake. But almost as quickly as it appeared, it retreats back into his palm and vanishes. Felix lets out an aggravated growl, his hand dropping to his side again. 

He's too humiliated to even make eye contact with the professor at first. But when he finally dares to lift his gaze, he's surprised by the expression on Byleth's face. Instead of the disappointment Felix expected, instead they look ... _concerned_ , almost, the slightest hint of a frown furrowing their brow. 

“Is something bothering you, Felix?” 

"Bothering ... ?" Felix starts to say, then shakes his head. "What are you talking about? I mean, it bothers me that I can't get this right, but––" 

"No, I don't mean that." 

Byleth tilts their head, in that way they always do when they're about to make a keen observation. It makes an uneasy feeling shoot up Felix's spine. He sometimes suspects Byleth can see straight into their students' souls––and as much as he respects the professor, it's ... unsettling, to say the least. 

"I just mean, it seems like you're upset about something," Byleth continues. "Something other than this, that is."

The tips of Felix's ears burn, and he hopes it isn't visible to the professor. That's the other thing about Byleth––they can be so _meddlesome_. If Felix didn't have so much respect for them, he would probably just snap that it's none of their business. But he knows it's no use. When Byleth knows something, they _know_ , and they're probably not going to let it go. 

The silence stretches out, and Felix looks sharply away from Byleth's unwavering gaze. He's acutely aware of the other students scattered throughout the classroom, working at their desks, and he prays that they're all out of earshot––one person in particular, of course. 

He could outright lie and say that everything's fine, but he knows Byleth will see right through it. Instead he says tightly, "It doesn't matter."

The professor doesn't respond right away, as if they're waiting for Felix to say more. When he doesn't, Byleth makes a soft humming noise in thought before they say anything. 

"I see. Well, I'm not going to force you to talk about it if you don't want to. But I will say, it does seem to be affecting you, and I would hate to see it hinder your progress." 

Felix tries not to wince. The professor certainly knows how to hit him where it hurts––and knows that the last thing he wants to do is let them down. 

He keeps his head lowered. "I understand." He hopes that's enough to satisfy Byleth's concern, because he's not sure how much more of their scrutiny he can take before he snaps.

Unfortunately for him, the professor doesn't seem content to let the matter go quite yet. They take a small step forward––and although they're a bit shorter than Felix, their intimidating aura makes him almost want to take a step back. 

"You know," they say at last, "it's not just that, of course. It's also that ... well, if there _is_ anything wrong, I want you to understand that you can always tell me." 

There's a low ringing sound in Felix's ears and his palms feel sweaty. He's been in _battles_ before where he felt less nervous than this. All he can think is that he'd rather be anywhere in the world right now than literally cornered by the professor at the back of the classroom, being interrogated about his feelings. 

But something stops him from saying something downright rude or hostile in reply like he normally might. Maybe it's just that he feels like all the energy has been drained out of him.

More than that, though, he can tell that Byleth means well. When he meets their gaze again, he doesn't find the prying curiosity that he expected––more of a genuine worry and trepidation. It can be easy to forget how young they are, but it's moments like these where he glimpses beneath their inscrutable exterior. He can see that they're trying their hardest to be more than a good teacher, but also a good friend.

He didn't realize until now how tense he is, like he was bracing himself for a fight. But now his shoulders relax and he lets out a short sigh. 

"I know." He glances to the side to observe the other students, and is relieved to find that they're all still hunched over their desks and don't seem to be paying attention to the conversation. That doesn't mean they can't hear, though, so he tries to keep his voice low as he mutters, "Thanks." 

That seems to finally give Byleth the response they were looking for, and their mouth turns up at the corners in a barely perceptible smile. "You're welcome," they reply, then nod in the general direction of Felix's hand. "Now, let's try that spell one more time."

  


* * *

  


Felix tries his hardest to take the professor's words to heart––especially the part about not hindering his progress––but it's easier said than done. 

He knows he shouldn't be letting his personal feelings get in the way of his studying or training. However, trying to extinguish the constant burning feeling behind his sternum proves to be a difficult task. Even when he's trying not to think about it, he can still feel it there, waiting for the opportune moment to be released.

It doesn't help that every time he considers trying to make amends with Sylvain, he loses his resolve at the last minute. There have been plenty of times in the past few days when he's seen Sylvain around the monastery grounds, in the dining hall, in the dorm hallways ... but every time, Sylvain has gotten a pained look on his face at the sight of Felix––a momentary shock followed by a flash of hurt, before his eyes turn steely and he looks the other way.

Each time, it makes Felix feel as if he's been punched in the stomach. But no matter how many times he tries to gather his courage and break the silence between them, something always stops him from doing it. None of the words he wants to say seem like enough. And maybe that's because, ultimately, he _deserves_ to not be forgiven. Maybe this is what Sylvain wants. 

They don't speak to each other for almost a week. 

The whole time, Felix tries to convince himself that maybe they both need the space––some time to think, to recover, before either of them says something they regret. Again. And after all, it’s not like this is the first time they’ve ever argued. It’s just that this argument felt different, which makes Felix all the more fearful that this time there's no repairing the damage.

He has other things to worry about, though, as the days creep by. It's drawing closer to a particular date––one that he would prefer not to think about at all.

The anniversary of the Tragedy of Duscur ... and the anniversary of Glenn's death. 

He can feel the impending day looming overhead like a gathering storm on the horizon––far enough away that it hasn’t stricken yet, but close enough that the change in the air is palpable. 

Of course, he’s not the only one affected by it. As it grows closer to the anniversary, he can see the telltale signs of grief written on the faces of his childhood friends. Sylvain is smiling less, Ingrid has dark circles under her eyes and barely speaks to anyone. Even the boar shows some signs of humanity; his face looks a bit drawn, and he seems distracted every time Byleth asks for his input on something. 

None of them have actually spoken a word about it, and part of Felix hopes it remains that way. There’s little time to stop and mourn when they have more important things to worry about, skills to practice and battles to prepare for.

Besides, the anniversary of the tragedy won’t be different from any other day. It won’t stop time from passing or make Felix’s current responsibilities disappear.

Nor will it make his brother any less dead. 

And so every time he feels the familiar lurch in his stomach at the thought of it, every time the horrific memories begin to arise, he pushes it fiercely away. He can’t let himself be distracted by such things when they’ll only prevent him from moving forward. 

As much as he tries to tell himself this, he still awakes on the anniversary feeling like there’s a heavy weight on his chest. Even before he opens his eyes, there’s a deep ache in his bones and a pounding in his head. The morning sunlight feels too bright as it illuminates the quiet interior of his bedroom.

He’s paralyzed at first, like his limbs are physically tethered down. But after allowing himself to lie still for a few long minutes, he heaves a sigh and winces as he lifts himself up. 

Everything feels distant and surreal as he climbs out of bed and prepares for the day. He tries to chase the fog from his mind, but it still remains even after he’s gotten himself dressed, tied up his hair, and shoved his feet into his boots. Ultimately, he decides there’s not much he can do about it. He just needs to brace himself and get through the day, no matter how difficult it may be. 

But that sense of determination crumbles almost as soon as he steps outside. 

He’s walking in the direction of the dining hall when he sees two figures standing between the greenhouse and the fishing pond, deep in conversation. He first recognizes the royal blue cape and golden hair of the boar prince, which immediately makes his stomach turn. But then he sees the person Dimitri is talking to––someone with long black hair that matches Felix’s own––and he freezes in his tracks. 

The world seems to tilt around him, and a high-pitched ringing fills his ears. _No, it can’t be_ … He wouldn't just show up unannounced. Would he? 

Just as the thought crosses his mind, Dimitri catches sight of Felix and turns to say something to the other person. They turn around, looking right towards Felix, and––

_Oh, no_. Felix's stomach drops and the edges of his vision go hazy. Because staring right back at him, across the short distance, is his father. 

This must be a nightmare, or a sick hallucination of some kind. Either that, or the universe is punishing him by making him face the two very last people he wanted to encounter on this day.

Apparently it's the latter, because he doesn't wake up even as the horrific scenario continues to unfold in front of him, as his father's eyes get that glassy and pitying look in them––the look Felix _hates_ ––as he squares his shoulders and strides forward.

He approaches Felix as one might approach a wild animal, each step deliberate but cautious, like he's afraid Felix might bolt at any moment. 

"Felix," he says, as soon as they're within earshot of each other. He stops a few feet away, posture stiff and uncertain. His voice is already rough with emotion, and Felix hates that it instills a momentary sense of sympathy in him. Almost. 

"I apologize for showing up without sending word beforehand," Rodrigue goes on, when Felix still hasn't spoken. "It was ... well, a bit of a spontaneous decision. I happened to be traveling in this direction, and I thought––I thought on this day, it might be good for us to ..." 

Before he even finishes his sentence, Felix has already turned on his heel and started to storm away. He thinks he hears his father call after him, but the roaring in his ears is so loud that he's not certain. He keeps his focus fixed ahead, fingernails digging into his palms as he knots his hands into fists. 

He hardly feels the stone steps under his feet as he ascends them, then continues marching past the dormitories. He didn't realize until now how badly he's shaking, how his heart is thrashing in his ribcage. If he doesn't release the boiling heat rising up into his chest, he feels like he's going to explode. 

But when he's about halfway to the training grounds, he hears a set of footsteps racing up behind him. Felix keeps his head down, eyes fixed stubbornly on the ground as he refuses to slow down his pace. If his father thinks that literally chasing him down is going to make any difference––

"Felix, wait!" a voice says.

And Felix almost stumbles, because it's even worse than he thought. It's not Rodrigue behind him. It's Dimitri. 

Something about the realization makes his fury multiply by tenfold. A moment ago he was hellbent on reaching the training grounds and not looking back even once. But all of a sudden he's coming to a dead halt, whirling around, smacking away the hand that Dimitri tries to put on his shoulder. 

"Don't you _dare_ put your hands on me." 

He doesn't care how loudly he raises his voice, how several students within their vicinity stop in their tracks and stare.

The boar prince doesn't even flinch, just blinks at Felix in shock before he does his best impression of a human being––his brow furrowing and a flash of something inscrutable crossing his eyes that looks almost ... pained. If Felix didn't know better, he would think Dimitri was actually hurt by his outburst. 

But he _does_ know better than to fall for the act, knows Dimitri's true self––nothing more than a bloodthirsty animal masquerading as a gentlemanly prince. Whatever he's about to say, Felix can't trust him. Never again. 

A tense silence passes between them, as Dimitri still stands a few paces away and continues to stare Felix down with that piercing gaze of his. The one that sends a shudder of terror through Felix's veins, although he would never dare to show it. 

At last, the boar heaves a sigh. "Felix," he says, running a hand down his face before he continues, "Listen, I know you and Rodrigue have your differences, but––" 

"I'm not speaking to him," Felix cuts him off. "If that's what you're going to suggest, I don't want to hear it." 

Dimitri's mouth sets into a grim line. "I know. And I'm sure it's especially difficult considering his arrival was unannounced, but––" 

At that, Felix scoffs bitterly. "Do you truly expect me to believe that?"

As usual, the boar is eerily skilled at playing innocent, his eyes widening in surprise. "I don't understand what you're implying." 

"Like hell you don't," Felix shoots back, the words almost a snarl. He takes a step forward, using all of his will power to keep his fists at his sides. "This was all part of your plan, wasn't it? The two of you, you ... _schemed_ this together, arranged it so that I wouldn't know he was coming, and then ..." 

He trails off, the words caught in his throat. His voice is already trembling, the corners of his vision blurring, and his head reels with a sudden panic. He will _not_ break down in front of the boar. The very thought is so humiliating that he feels like he's going to be sick. 

When Felix doesn't finish his thought, Dimitri just regards him with a steady frown. "I'm still not certain what you mean," he says at last, "but I can assure you that I had no say in this. Your father really did come all this way to see you, and you could at least have the courtesy to hear what he has to say."

"I already _know_ what he has to say." Felix's voice is dangerously close to the breaking point, but he pushes on furiously. "Every time, it's the same thing. And I don't want to stand there listening to his nonsense about how my brother died like a hero, how he died for a just cause."

He stops himself there, swallowing the lump that has been steadily growing in his throat this whole time. He could just turn on his heel and leave, but something keeps him stubbornly fixed to the spot, glaring at the boar prince––a silent dare to come up with some sorry excuse. 

Dimitri doesn't answer right away, but there's a small pinch to his brow––what Felix assumes is an attempt to look concerned. "Felix, listen. I'm only saying––" 

"No, _you_ listen," says Felix, nearly hissing the words through gritted teeth. "I know exactly what you're doing. You only want me to come to terms with my brother's death so you can feel better about yourself. You want me to forget that he's dead because of you." 

The words rush out of him as if they're beyond his control, the final accusation flying from his mouth like a dagger. He can see the exact moment when it hits, sees the way the boar has the audacity to wince as if in physical pain. Then the expression quickly fades, the hurt transforming into a hardened expression. 

When Dimitri speaks again, he doesn't raise his voice. "Believe what you will. I know there's no use in arguing with you," he says. Felix can hear the tremor in it, the prince's control almost slipping––a hint of the beast that lurks underneath. But then it's gone in an instant, replaced by an almost eerie calmness. "However, I will say this. You still have an opportunity to make amends with your father––which is something many people would take advantage of if they had the chance. Some of us do not have that luxury."

There's an unexpected twist in Felix's gut. For a split second, he almost feels _guilty_. But before he can retaliate or say anything else at all, Dimitri has turned back around and started walking away. 

Felix remains rooted to the spot, as if anticipating that the boar will turn around and face him again. But the prince continues walking back in the direction of the docks, without looking back once. 

And, with the knot in his chest growing even more excruciating by the moment, Felix turns around and keeps walking in the opposite direction. 

  


* * *

  


Glaring sunlight pours through the open roof, stinging Felix's eyes as he swings the wooden sword in another vicious arc. He's lost track of how long he's been at the training grounds, but the sun has already moved a fraction higher into the cloudless sky. 

Fortunately no one else is present, so Felix doesn't have to worry about others seeing the obsessive way he swings the blade again and again, as if battling some unseen ghost. No one is there to hear his harsh yell every time he thrusts his weapon through the heart of his phantom opponent. 

His throat is starting to feel raw, and a bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck. Felix staggers to a stop, his sword still outstretched in front of him. He can't help but notice the way his arm shakes from exertion, the way the tip of the wooden sword dips slightly. The realization is met with only another wave of stubborn determination. It's not as if any enemy is ever going to stop for him on the battlefield because he's _tired_.

Another cry escapes him as he whirls around once again, sword slashing through the air in almost a full circle. He tries to ignore the burning pain in his arms and the way a dull roar has started to build in his ears.

Felix pauses again, swaying on his feet, his chest heaving and his heart racing at an almost alarming speed. He squeezes his eyes shut with a groan of frustration, ashamed of his body's own limitations. 

Behind his eyelids, images flash like fleeting dreams. 

He sees Glenn's tall silhouette, always a few steps ahead of him. He sees the unwavering expression of determination on his brother's face that he always wore in combat, even if he was only training––the furrow in his brow and the set of his jaw. He hears the familiar bark of Glenn's laugh, feels the solid weight of Glenn's arm around his shoulders. 

He sees Rodrigue's pale and teary-eyed face, an uncharacteristic shake in his voice as he told Felix what had happened in Duscur. Felix remembers the way the whole earth seemed to fall out from under him, remembers how he could hardly hear himself speak as he kept insisting to see his brother, even though Rodrigue had explained several times that Glenn’s body hadn’t been returned to them. There hadn’t been enough of him left. 

After that the memories are hazy, patches of blackness blotting out the worst details. But he does remember running outside, kneeling on the hard ground, sobbing and dry heaving, until he felt his father's hand rest against his shoulder. Then, he heard the six words that still ring in his ears to this day––softly spoken, but like a dagger driven into his back. 

_"He died like a true knight."_

Even now, the memory makes bile rise to his throat, makes him feel like fiery arrows have been shot into his spine. His vision narrows and his breath shudders out of him, but he still raises his sword again––

Which is when the heavy doors to the training ground creak open. 

Without thinking, he spins around with the training sword still drawn, breathing heavily. Whoever it is, he's prepared to threaten them if it means they'll leave him alone. 

But when he sees who it is, he falters. 

"Felix," Sylvain says, an unexpected note of relief in his voice. He closes the doors behind him. "Thought I'd find you here." 

Felix starts to lower the sword, although he still keeps it raised in front of him. "What do you want?" he demands.

Sylvain doesn't answer right away, taking a hesitant step forward and stopping again. He has a satchel hung over one shoulder, like he'd been headed on his way somewhere––but that's the least of Felix's concerns right now. 

"I ..." Sylvain starts to say, then reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. "Look," he tries again, "I know you're mad at me right now. And if you want me to leave, I will. But we both know what day it is, and I just wanted to check in on you. If you'd prefer to be alone, I get it. But––" 

"Did one of them send you?" Felix cuts him off. He intends for it to sound more demanding, but the edge is starting to wear off his voice. His sword lowers even further as he keeps his gaze fixed intently on Sylvain, demanding an honest answer. 

Sylvain frowns. "What?" 

"The boar? My old man?" 

"Your … Wait, what do you mean? Your father is _here_?" 

Judging by the way his eyes widen, this is news to Sylvain. Felix studies his face for any sign that he's faking it, but finds no such evidence. 

Suddenly, his throat feels too tight to speak. He looks away, letting his arm fall to his side. The tip of the wooden sword scrapes the ground.

"Oh," Sylvain says. It's quiet, but even across the small distance Felix can detect the note of sudden understanding in it. "Felix ..."

Felix almost hates what it does to him, how the sound of it saps all the fight out of his bones. He can hear the genuine sympathy in Sylvain's voice, and it's not the empty pity that most people offer him. It's a deep sense of compassion built on years of friendship, years of witnessing and assuaging Felix's pain. 

It occurs to Felix, all of a sudden, that Sylvain probably knows him better than anyone else in the world.

The realization startles the air right out of his lungs, like he's been punched right in the chest. He hears his own shaking breath, hears the clatter of the training sword against the stone tiles as he lets it slip from his hand. 

"He should still be alive." He says it before he can stop himself, releasing the words he's been holding captive for years. He always thought admitting such a sentiment would make him feel weak, would make him feel smaller. Instead, it's somehow the exact opposite––like it requires every last bit of strength he has left. 

"I don't care what anyone says," he goes on, voice almost breaking on the words. "He didn't die because he was a hero, he died because of pointless violence. And I can't just stand there and listen to my old man praise his death like he was some kind of saint. He––He was my _brother_ , and he should still be here."

Until now, he didn't notice Sylvain moving towards him––but all of a sudden, a shadow falls over him, and a pair of familiar hands rests on his shoulders. On instinct, Felix reaches out, fingers clenching on the lapels of Sylvain's shirt––almost like he's about to push Sylvain away. But then his hands just ... stay there, loosening slightly as he tries to steady himself. 

He can't even look up, his gaze fixing on the stitched pattern on Sylvain's jacket. His breathing has gone shallow, hitching in his chest, and something wet runs down the sides of his face. Sweat? ... No. Oh, Goddess. It's _tears_.

He can't remember the last time he cried in front of someone, but he's fairly certain it hasn't occurred since that day four years ago when he cried in front of Rodrigue. After that, he swore he would never show such a sign of weakness again. 

Maybe it's the sheer exhaustion, but he doesn't have the energy to feel ashamed of it now. He can't control the shuddering sob that escapes from him, or the way he sways forward on his feet. 

"Hey," Sylvain says softly. His hands tighten on Felix's shoulders. "Come here." 

Felix does.

He stumbles into Sylvain’s embrace, the same way he always did when they were children, his forehead falling against Sylvain’s shoulder. It’s been years since he’s done this, yet it feels as natural as it did back then, like releasing a breath he’d been holding for a long time.

It seems to have the same effect on Sylvain. His arms wrap easily around Felix and hold him there, gentle but steadying. One of his hands soothes up and down Felix’s back, then slides upward to cradle the back of his head. 

Felix didn’t realize until now how much he missed this, how much he _needed_ it. It feels different now than it used to—Sylvain’s shoulder is more solid beneath Felix’s forehead, his arms are sturdier. But something about his mere presence still has the same effect as it always did when they were younger. It still pulls something deep out of Felix's heart that he wouldn't dare show to anyone else. And he thinks it's because Sylvain doesn't offer any empty words, doesn't tell him everything is going to be alright because he knows it won't be. All he has to do is _be_ there.

It isn't long until Felix loses sense of time, but he knows a while must have passed based on how damp the shoulder of Sylvain's jacket has gotten against his face. Sylvain hasn't loosened his grip, continuing to hold Felix close and murmur the occasional affirmation of "Just let it out" or "I'm here." 

Finally, Felix tries to pull himself back together, lifting his head and sniffing loudly. He still can't bring himself to look up, but he can feel Sylvain's concerned gaze on him. Even though he knows he should step away, he keeps clinging to Sylvain's shirt like he might fall over if he lets go.

"Maybe we should sit down," Sylvain says.

If it were any other circumstance, Felix would probably refuse and insist that he's fine. But something about the barely concealed note of worry in Sylvain's voice stops him from protesting. Besides, he's starting to become aware of how tired he is and how badly his limbs ache from overuse. He manages a small nod.

His body feels heavier with every step as Sylvain leads them off to the side, towards one of the pillars around the perimeters of the training grounds. Felix stumbles, but fortunately Sylvain places a firm hand on his back to keep him steady. 

The shade is a welcome relief after the heat of the sun blazing down on him for so long. Felix releases a long breath when he finally sits down and leans back against the pillar. He wipes a shaking arm across his face, and his sleeve comes away damp––with sweat or tears or both, he has no idea. He's too wrung out to care. 

Sylvain slides down next to him, so close that their shoulders touch. Felix doesn't mind the close proximity. In fact, he finds himself leaning against Sylvain on instinct. Sylvain tenses in brief surprise, but then carefully slips an arm around Felix, and Felix doesn't stop him. 

Neither of them speaks. Felix keeps staring ahead, eyes fixed on the stone wall several feet in front of them. Although he can still feel a hard knot of grief at the center of his chest, it's drowned out by an overwhelming numbness. He's tired. So, so tired. 

Somehow, his head ends up resting against Sylvain's shoulder again, and he's not sure whether it's because he leaned into Sylvain's embrace or whether Sylvain pulled him into it. He doesn't particularly care. For once, he allows himself to be held, allows the tension to ease from his body, allows his eyes to drift closed. 

For some time, he knows nothing but the blurry shapes that shift and dissipate behind his eyelids. He's distantly aware of his breathing starting to even out, matching Sylvain's quiet inhales and exhales coming from right beside him. Haziness seeps into the corners of his mind, and he willingly succumbs to it. 

Right before the darkness takes over, he could swear he feels the press of a light kiss on the top of his head. 

  


* * *

  


When he wakes again, Felix's head is aching. His eyes are dry, and he blinks a few times to orient himself. As his vision adjusts, he sees a rack of training lances nearby and his mind catches up to the present. Right, he's at the training grounds. And ... _wait_. 

It all comes back in a dizzying rush, and Felix realizes he still has his head resting against Sylvain's shoulder. Face burning, he sits up so quickly that he almost bangs his forehead into Sylvain's jaw. 

"Whoa," Sylvain says, pulling away a bit. His arm was still draped around Felix a moment ago, but now he slides his hand to Felix's shoulder. "You okay?" 

"I ... yes, I'm––" Felix stammers, but he can't seem to form a complete sentence. He's fairly certain he can feel the dampness of drool at the corner of his mouth and he hastily wipes it away with the back of his hand. If Sylvain notices, he's polite enough to not comment on it. There's also a small but painful crick in Felix's neck which he seems to have exacerbated by sitting up too fast. Wincing, he rubs at the aching spot. "Did I ... ?"

"Yeah, you fell asleep for a bit," Sylvain says. "Honestly, I was kinda worried you'd passed out at first, but then you started snoring, so ..." He shrugs. "I could've woken you up, but I figured you needed the rest."

Felix blinks, unsure of which part of that explanation to process first. He fixates immediately on the fact that he was apparently _snoring_ , which is humiliating enough. But also to think that he had his head on Sylvain's shoulder that whole time …

He decides to jump to his most pressing question: "How long was I asleep?"

"Not sure. Honestly, I kinda started to doze off myself, but ... I don't think it was _too_ long. Maybe half an hour?"

_Half an hour_... Felix cringes inwardly. He has a feeling it's an understatement, based on how high the sun has gotten in the sky by now.

"Anyway," Sylvain continues, "I didn't see you at the dining hall this morning and got kinda worried so I figured you'd be here, and ..." He stops, looking away and rubbing the side of his neck––then freezes. "Oh, right." 

He reaches for something next to him and pulls it into his lap––the satchel, Felix realizes, which he noticed hanging from Sylvain's shoulder earlier. After rummaging around in it briefly, Sylvain produces an apple and a small hunk of bread. 

"I know it's not much," he says, holding out the items towards Felix. "It's all I managed to grab before one of the cooks caught me and started lecturing me about stealing food. But, y'know, it’s better than nothing. And I figured you were gonna miss breakfast and would probably be training on an empty stomach, so ..." 

Felix stares at the food in Sylvain's hands. Maybe it's the exhaustion getting to him, but he feels like he's been hit over the head. All he can do is blink a few times, glancing up at Sylvain's face as if waiting to discover there's some kind of catch. But all he sees in Sylvain's expression is sincerity and a glimmer of concern. 

Something about it catches Felix off-guard. On the one hand, he despises being coddled. Then again, Sylvain _knows_ that, and Felix can tell he's trying as hard as he can not to make Felix think that's his intention. For some reason, it makes him feel like he's going to cry again. 

Also, of course, his stomach chooses this moment to growl so loudly that Sylvain can probably hear it. His face warm, Felix takes the food from Sylvain. "Thanks," he manages to say. 

"Don't mention it. Oh! And you can have some of my water, too." Sylvain takes a waterskin out of the satchel and hands it towards Felix as well. When Felix hesitates, Sylvain nudges him in the arm with his elbow. "C'mon now, wouldn't want you passing out from dehydration. I might be strong, but not sure I could carry you all the way to the infirmary." 

The thought of _that_ is so humiliating that Felix can feel all the blood draining from his face. Without protest, he reaches out to take the waterskin from Sylvain. Their fingers brush in the process and something seizes in Felix's chest at the unintentional contact. He meets Sylvain's gaze for about half a second before he tears his eyes away, and he fumbles a little with the waterskin before he regains his composure and takes a swig. 

He didn't realize how thirsty he was. As soon as the water slides down his throat, he takes another few gulps of it on instinct. By the time he realizes how much he just drank, he's already drained about half of it. He sheepishly lowers the waterskin again, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth before he gives Sylvain a questioning look and starts to hand the waterskin back. 

Sylvain just stares at him with an oddly dazed look, like he's just woken from a dream, then gives a quick shake of his head. "It's okay, you can have the rest of it. You probably need it more than I do."

As guilty as Felix feels, he doesn't want to argue. He lowers the waterskin into his lap, glaring down at it. A long silence passes, as he takes a deep breath and tries to gather the courage to speak. 

"Sylvain," he says, finally, "I'm sorry." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sylvain sit up straighter. 

"What? Felix, you don't have to apologize for––" 

"I don't mean about this," Felix cuts him off, gesturing vaguely at the space around them. "I mean about ... about what I said to you. The other day." 

At last, he forces himself to look up and meet Sylvain's gaze. Sylvain just looks back at him with wide eyes at first, like he hasn't quite processed what Felix said, before he bites his lip and looks away again. "Oh," he says flatly. "That." 

"I shouldn't have said it." Now that he's let the words come out, it's like Felix can't hold back all the things he's been wanting to say these past few days. "And if you're still mad at me, I understand. But it was unfair of me, and ... I wanted you to know how much I regret it."

He brings his rambling to a stop, trying not to wince at how terrible of an apology that was. He wants to say more, but he's terrified that if he keeps going he'll make it worse. 

Sylvain doesn't answer right away, but then he releases a long breath. "I forgive you."

Felix blinks. "You do?" 

"Yeah, I mean ... I can't say it didn't hurt," Sylvain admits, drawing one knee up to his chest and stretching the other out in front of him. "But ... well, I knew the––the _anniversary_ was coming up. And yeah, I was upset, but I shouldn't have just cut you off like that. I'm sorry." 

Felix is momentarily taken aback by the apology. But as Sylvain's words sink in, he starts to put the pieces together. He starts to see all their interactions from the past few weeks through a new lens––one where Sylvain was worried about him, where he knew that the anniversary of Glenn's death was on the horizon. 

Suddenly, all those small signs of concern, of affection, take on a new meaning ... and Felix feels like an idiot that he didn't realize it until now. An idiot and a huge asshole, because Sylvain was only looking out for him, and all Felix did was hurt him in return.

"You don't owe me an apology," he says. When Sylvain opens his mouth to protest, Felix goes on insistently, "I mean it. There's no excuse for how I acted. Even though this time of the year is ... difficult, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm the one who should be apologizing." 

Sylvain falls uncharacteristically silent, regarding Felix with a shocked expression like he never expected to hear those words in a million years. Then his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. 

"I appreciate you saying that," he says. "But I do feel awful about what I said to you, about how you're always following me around. I didn't mean it like that. I ..." 

He trails off, frowning a little like he's unsure of how to phrase what he's going to say next. But then he looks up and meets Felix's gaze, and there's a sudden openness and vulnerability there that Felix wasn't expecting.

"You know you're my best friend," Sylvain says, "and I care about you more than anyone else in the world. I really mean that."

Felix is fairly certain he hasn't breathed for the past thirty seconds or so. There's a clash of emotions inside him––a brief, sinking sense of disappointment at the word _friend_ that quickly transforms into acceptance. 

After all, Sylvain's friendship is already more than he deserves, and it's not something to be devalued. Sylvain has been with him through everything, has seen him at his lowest lows, has forgiven him despite all the times he's lashed out, has promised to live and die with him. If that isn't love––even if it's not quite in the form that Felix hoped––he doesn't know what is. And it's more than just about anyone has ever given to him.

Sylvain must mistake Felix's lengthy silence for a sign of doubt, because he hastily adds, "Look, I know I may not always be the best at showing it, but––" 

"Me, too," Felix blurts out. Sylvain gives him a mystified look in response. "I mean, you ... you're the same. To me." 

His face is obscenely warm. He's terrified for a moment that Sylvain can see right through him, that he's exposed too much. But then, after what feels like an eternity, a relieved smile lights up Sylvain's face. He lets out a quiet huff, like he's been holding his breath for as long as Felix has. 

Felix could swear for a moment that Sylvain's eyes look a little teary. But then Sylvain is already looking away again. "Thanks," he says. "Seriously, that means a lot."

They sit in silence, both leaning back against the pillar, shoulders almost touching. Somehow, though, the lack of conversation feels meaningful rather than awkward.

For some reason, it reminds Felix of a night not too long ago––although he realizes it's been months by now. The night after Miklan was killed. 

Similarly, on that night, they sat side by side on the dock overlooking the fishing pond. Neither of them said a word. He can still remember it with bitter clarity––the gleam of the moonlight on the water, the pinpricks of stars against the blackness of the sky, Sylvain just sitting next to him and breathing shakily in the stillness. Felix didn't tell him things were going to be okay, because he knew from experience it wouldn't be––although he knew it was much more complicated in this case, knew that Sylvain had feared his brother as much as Felix had worshipped his own. 

_"You know ... I still can't seem to believe that monster was really him,"_ Sylvain said. _"Even though I saw what happened to him with my own eyes, it just––it doesn't feel real."_

Until then he hadn't cried, but his voice started to sound choked. _"There were so many times when I was a kid when I wished he'd disappear. I know it sounds horrible, but it's true. I was so scared of him. Hell, I was still terrified of him even after he ran off to join the bandits. I always thought he’d come back to kill me."_ He huffed out a noise then that sounded almost like a breathless and bitter laugh. _"I know it's my fault that he ended up like that, but ..."_

_"What are you talking about? It wasn't your fault."_ It was the first thing Felix had said to him since Miklan had fallen––and maybe he blurted it out a little more quickly than he'd meant to, but he felt it needed to be said. 

Sylvain didn't look so convinced. _"Thanks, I just mean … yeah, it was beyond my control, but his whole life was ruined because of me. It's what led him down that path, and that's just a fact._

_"And now that he's gone ... I don't know. He didn't deserve a fate like that. No one does. And it was ... it was horrible. But I also can't seem to bring myself to feel anything. Because I never felt like he was my brother. I feel like my brother died on the day I was born."_

He looked up at Felix then, a sudden desperation in his eyes. _"Does that make me a horrible person?"_

It took Felix a long time to answer. But when he did, the words came out with surprising ease. _"No,"_ he said, _"I think that just makes you human."_

Even now, he wishes he had been able to say more than that. He wishes he could have been there for Sylvain the way Sylvain is here for him now. 

He's about to open his mouth and say as much, when he notices the contemplative look on Sylvain's face, like there's something difficult he wants to voice aloud. And so Felix falls silent, waiting for him to speak. 

When he finally does, it comes out quiet. "You were right, by the way." 

It wasn't what Felix was expecting to hear. "About what?"

"The girls," Sylvain says. "About how none of them ..." 

He doesn't complete the sentence, but he doesn't need to. Felix remembers damn well what he said, and he almost winces at the thought of it. "Sylvain, I didn't mean––" 

"No, that's the thing," Sylvain cuts him off, then lets out a short sigh and runs a hand through his hair. He studies the stone floor before he goes on. "Honestly, I think that's what upset me the most. I knew it was true. I _know_ none of them care about me.

"But it's complicated. And I don't expect you to understand. I don't even know if I understand it myself. It's just ..." Sylvain pauses, clenching his hand into a fist as he rests it against his knee. "I think some part of me hopes that every time it will be different. Maybe this time, I'll meet someone who really cares about me––as a person, that is. Not just as the bearer of a Crest. 

"And honestly, there have been a few here and there who probably _did_ care about more than that. But I messed things up before it could get serious because ... what if I was wrong? What if I thought I was in love with some girl, and then found out that all along she only wanted to be with me so she could pass on my Crest or whatever? It's so ..." 

He sighs again in frustration, like he can't even think of the right word. "I can't describe it. It's like, one day everything will seem to be going okay with one girl or another, but then out of nowhere I'll just see it ... that _look_ in their eyes. Like they just wanna reach into my chest and rip the Crest right out of me. Sometimes, honestly, I wish they could." 

He looks down at his hand, frowning as he curls and then unfurls his fingers again, like doing so will release the magic out of his blood. Felix can only stare at him, stunned. He's always suspected Sylvain felt this way, to an extent. But he didn’t know Sylvain’s resentment of his Crest ran that deep.

Before he can come up with a response, Sylvain is speaking again: "You're smart, you know," he says. "Never getting involved with anyone. That would probably be the right thing to do." 

Something shuts down inside Felix upon hearing those words. He knows Sylvain doesn't mean anything malicious by it. But it still stings all the same––for reasons Sylvain can never know, of course. 

And, well, it's not that he's _wrong_. After all, Felix has always avoided courting girls like the plague. Every time a girl has so much as looked at him with interest, he's always sharply looked the other way to make his refusal clear. For a long time, he always thought the ensuing heavy feeling his gut was just a sense of resolve that he was choosing his duties and his training over some stupid, frivolous romance. Now, of course, he knows the true reason behind it. But it's not as if he can explain it out loud. 

He must have been silent for too long, because Sylvain looks over at him with a sudden worried expression like he thinks he may have said something offensive. "Wait, shit. I'm sorry, Felix. That’s not what I––" 

"It's alright," Felix interrupts him. He realizes he's still holding the food Sylvain gave him and hasn't even taken a bite of it yet, but he suddenly feels like he might vomit if he tries to. He turns the apple over in one hand, fixating on the way the midday light glances off its smooth red exterior. "I knew what you meant. But ... you know, just because I choose to be alone doesn't mean that you have to." 

It almost physically pains him to say it, but he'd much rather Sylvain continue to believe that Felix just isn't interested in anyone romantically. It's far better than him knowing the truth. 

He's worried that Sylvain will try to argue with him. But, after a brief pause, Sylvain's shoulders relax like all the fight is leaving him at once. 

"I––I know," he says. "I guess I just feel like no matter what I do, it's always gonna hurt in the end. Like I'll never trust anyone enough to settle down with them, or I'll just have to marry some woman even if I know she's only interested in securing a Crest. Either that, or my parents will probably force me into some arranged marriage." He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, like doing so will drive away the thought. "Sorry, I know I sound crazy right now. I'm probably just messed up for life, aren't I?" 

Felix contemplates that. "Maybe," he says at last, which earns him a baffled look. "But I mean ... I think we all are." 

At that, something in Sylvain's expression darkens. "Guess you're right," he admits, leaning heavily back against the pillar and tipping his head back.

Felix watches him, studying each angle of his profile. He can't help but feel like he said something wrong, said something that immediately made Sylvain shut him out––which, of course, was not his intention.

He could just let it go, but he feels a sudden urgency to try again, to pry back Sylvain's mask and see what's underneath, even if it's just a glimpse. 

"I'm just saying," Felix continues, choosing his words carefully, "that it doesn't mean you're any less deserving of ... you know, finding someone. Someone who cares about you, and not just because of your Crest or whatever." 

He wishes he were eloquent enough to say more, to tell Sylvain every reason he's deserving of love. But he already feels as if he had to force his words out, and also fears that if he continues he'll expose his secret somehow. 

He forces himself to not look away, even when Sylvain shifts a bit and turns his gaze towards Felix again. The space between them suddenly seems to crackle with some invisible energy, and Felix could swear the distance is even smaller than it was before. This close, he can see the flecks of gold in Sylvain’s eyes, could almost count his dark lashes or the light smattering of freckles on his skin. 

They maintain eye contact for several long seconds, and Felix starts to get a prickling feeling on the back of his scalp. It’s of course that, at this moment, he remembers feeling something right before he fell asleep on Sylvain’s shoulder earlier––a light press on the top of his head that felt almost like … 

_No_. He’s not going to give in to that flicker of hope. Not again. 

But it’s a bit hard not to let it rekindle, especially when Sylvain is still staring at him. His expression is difficult to decipher; he looks … startled, or confused almost, like Felix just said something to him in a language he’s never heard. His eyes flick downward––or maybe Felix imagines that––before hastily shying away again. 

“Thanks, Felix,” he says at last, the words quiet and a little hoarse. He clears his throat, and his mouth turns up at one corner in an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. I was supposed to be the one comforting _you_.” 

“You did,” Felix answers. “I was just returning the favor.” He hesitates and then adds, “Anyway, I’m glad you told me.” 

Sylvain still doesn’t look at him, and the edges of his smile fade a bit. But after a short pause he replies, “I’m glad you listened.” 

Felix doesn’t know how to respond. Not with words, anyway. But right then, he notices the way Sylvain’s hand is resting on the ground between them, and a sudden impulse sparks through his veins. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out a free hand and takes hold of Sylvain’s wrist. 

It’s nothing more than a brief and reassuring squeeze, just a silent sign of solidarity, before he pulls his hand away again. But he notices the way Sylvain tenses at the touch, his fingers curling in. He lifts his gaze and smiles at Felix, and this time it actually seems to reach his eyes. 

And it occurs to Felix that he can never lose this friendship, can never lose Sylvain. He already almost let his petty jealousy ruin that, and he can never allow it to happen again. Although he doesn’t voice it aloud, he vows silently that from now on he’s going to be there for his best friend no matter what ... even if it means setting his own feelings aside for good. 

With that decided, he offers a hesitant smile as he releases that last wisp of hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t worry son there’s two more chapters, there is still hope!! i’m probably going to return to my normal schedule now, so i plan to publish chapter 4 next friday! 
> 
> coming up next week: felix has some things to discuss with rodrigue and dimitri, plus sylvain has started to act differently around him and felix isn’t sure what to make of it. and, the blue lions are assigned a dangerous mission.
> 
> all of your comments & kudos are much appreciated as always!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felix has a few things to resolve with rodrigue and dimitri, and he’s also trying to figure out why sylvain is suddenly acting different around him. and, the blue lions are assigned a last-minute and particularly harrowing mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to chapter 4 of the 4head kiss fic….haha… i’ll see myself out
> 
> this chapter is about 8.3k words, sooo a bit long but not as long as the previous chapter lol. it’s mostly a lot of tying up of loose ends, pining, and setting things up for the last chapter (which is gonna be a DOOZY heh heh). but i hope it’s still fun and that it gets y’all hyped for the upcoming Grand Finale *rubs my hands together* 
> 
> i can’t really think of any particular warnings, it’s mostly just a lot of talking lol.
> 
> thank you to [ang](https://twitter.com/stelllalights), [jessie](https://twitter.com/parchmints), and [noelle](https://twitter.com/genericdancer) for beta’ing! ♡

After such a tumultuous start to the day, it takes Felix a few more hours to recover. 

He and Sylvain remain at the training grounds for a short while longer, while Felix eats the food Sylvain brought him and regains his strength. They don't say much, but at least it's an amicable silence this time. 

Now that he's calmed down, Felix keeps running this morning's events over in his head, and a heavy feeling starts to settle in the pit of his stomach. It's not like Sylvain told him he needs to issue an apology to anyone, but something about their conversation has put things into a new perspective, and Felix has an unexpected urge to right some wrongs before the day ends. 

Eventually, he and Sylvain part ways for the time being, with promises to eat dinner together later. Felix may not show it, but a warm sense of relief washes over him at the thought. He's grown tired of eating alone. 

Left on his own, Felix wanders the monastery grounds and observes each person he passes in search of a certain familiar face. At first, he has no luck, and starts to wonder if Rodrigue has already left Garreg Mach after Felix turned him away this morning. Felix wouldn't blame him for it.

But just when he's on the verge of giving up his search, he walks up the steps to the balcony outside of the cathedral and sees his father is standing there alone, looking over the misty landscape with a solemn expression. 

As Felix cautiously approaches, he notices all the signs of exhaustion written on Rodrigue's face. His skin looks pale, there are dark circles under his eyes, and Felix is fairly certain the wrinkles in his brow are becoming more defined. 

He comes to a stop a few feet away, maintaining a slight distance, and clears his throat. Rodrigue tenses, then looks up and meets Felix's gaze. Felix says nothing, just stares back in an almost defiant gesture, his jaw tight and hands clenched as he struggles for something to say. 

There's something inscrutable in Rodrigue's eyes, the furrow in his brow fading as he stares back. He doesn't move, doesn't attempt to shorten the distance between them, as if in silent acknowledgement that he understands Felix wants to keep it that way.

"Felix," he says, when Felix still hasn't spoken, but then he doesn't seem to know how to continue. He rests his hand on the edge of the short wall. The momentary glimmer in his eyes disappears, like a candle snuffed out, as if he's bracing himself for whatever biting thing Felix is about to say.

Felix tears his gaze away, looking stubbornly down at the ground. "I ..." He falters as he tries to choose his words. "I wanted to ... apologize. For my behavior earlier." 

Each word feels like pulling a tooth, but something seems to loosen in his chest once he's said it. 

Apparently it was not what Rodrigue was expecting to hear, given the way he remains silent. When Felix doesn't say anything more, Rodrigue shifts on his feet before he answers, "It's alright."

There's such genuine forgiveness in his tone that it surprises Felix into looking up. But his father is already looking away, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes a deep breath before continuing. 

"As I said this morning, I wish I could have given you earlier notice of my arrival. I truly meant that. I know it must be difficult, and I should have provided you with that choice of whether you wanted to see me or not on this day. So ... if you don't want to speak with me, I understand."

The way the words pour out of him, Felix suspects he's been mentally rehearsing them for the past few hours in preparation for if the two of them ran into each other again. Strangely, the hesitation in his father's voice eases some of Felix's anxiety. He supposes it's the realization that Rodrigue is just as uncertain as to how to approach this conversation as Felix is. 

He knows his father is giving him a choice, that he'll understand if Felix turns away as he usually does. But this time, Felix decides he's not going anywhere. In fact, he steels himself and strides forward until he's also overlooking the wall––still at a slight distance, but much closer than he was before. 

He doesn't say anything at first, just crosses his arms and gazes down at the scenery––the mountains standing starkly against the horizon, a few pegasi soaring over the valley in the near distance where some knights are practicing their flying.

Felix’s mind supplies him with the memory of what Dimitri said to him this morning: _"You still have an opportunity to make amends with your father––which is something many people would take advantage of if they had the chance. Some of us do not have that luxury."_ He almost lets out a bitter scoff; he can't believe he's actually considering the advice of the boar of all people.

"No," he says at last, still glaring into the distance, almost as if he's talking to himself. "I think maybe it's best I didn't know you'd be here. Otherwise, I would have ..." He trails off, but he's certain the implication is clear: If he'd been told Rodrigue would be here, Felix would have avoided him entirely. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way Rodrigue's shoulders sag. _Damn it._ Felix is trying to make things _better_ for once, not worse, but words have never really been his strong suit. 

"What I'm trying to say is ... I shouldn't have just walked away like that," he says. "I'm sorry." 

The apology comes out with more ease than he expected, although saying it out loud still makes him feel as if a stone is lodged in his throat. 

Rodrigue stands up straighter, pausing before he says, "Felix, you don't have to––"

"I want to," Felix cuts him off, then meets his father's gaze again with a serious stare. "Listen, I'm not saying that I see eye to eye with you about what happened to Glenn. Because I don't. It's just that I ..." 

His throat tightens around the words, and he can't seem to complete the sentence. He doesn't know how, doesn't even know what exactly he _wants_. He doesn't think he can reconcile with his father. He's not ready for that, and isn’t sure if he’ll ever be. But he also doesn't want to maintain this impenetrable wall between them. 

Fortunately, Rodrigue seems to understand. He regards Felix in silence, before he gives a single nod. "I know." His hand slips from its place on the wall and falls to his side. "And I'm willing to accept that. I have my way to cope, and you have your own." 

He closes his eyes and opens them again, collecting himself. "I'll always believe that he died for a noble cause. It's what I have to believe. But I also understand if you don't see it that way." 

Each word is quiet, careful, like he's treading on a thin sheet of ice that could shatter at a single misstep. On instinct, Felix tenses. For the past few years, he's always given in to the surge of pain and defiance that courses through him whenever Rodrigue mentions his brother's so-called _heroic_ death.

But for once, he doesn't lash out. It may be a challenge, but he's trying to listen this time, to tentatively accept the olive branch his father is offering him. Still, he's not sure what exactly to say in return. Maybe, though, his lack of protest is enough to convey his feelings. 

At the very least, he doesn't move away––not even when Rodrigue takes a few steps closer to him, until they're only about an arm's length apart.

"Felix," Rodrigue says, pausing to release a shaking exhale, "you're my only son, now." 

His voice is suddenly choked with emotion, almost close to breaking, and it makes the hard shell around Felix's heart crack open a little. He slowly stands up straight, turning to face his father. 

Rodrigue continues to stare out over the wall, like he doesn't notice Felix's sudden attention. He seems lost in thought, unable to continue speaking. 

Even so, Felix understands the underlying fear in his father’s words. "You won't lose me, too," he says at last, firmly. "I'll make sure of that."

Rodrigue looks up at Felix in surprise. His eyes widen a fraction, but the temporary expression of shock soon softens again. The edge of his mouth twitches like he's almost about to smile, and huffs out a soft noise that might be a relieved laugh.

"You always were very determined," he says. Then he falls silent, sobering again. "In that way, you remind me so much of him."

Felix goes rigid at the comparison, the edges of his vision swimming. He looks sharply down, a turmoil of emotions tangling in his chest. On one hand, it feels like an honor. On the other, it's a heavy burden he'll always have to bear. 

Seeming to sense the distress he's caused, Rodrigue takes another step forward so his shadow falls over Felix.

"But of course, don't take that to mean that you have to fill his shoes," he says. "You are your own person. And I'm proud of you, Felix. I hope you know that." 

That surprises Felix more than anything Rodrigue has said during this whole conversation––probably more than anything he's said in years. He can't control the way it makes his eyes flick upwards, the way his shock is probably written all over his face. 

Rodrigue's fingers twitch at his side in hesitation, before he seems to come to a decision. He lifts a hand as if reaching out to coax forward a wild animal, then tentatively rests it on Felix's shoulder.

Felix freezes at the unexpected contact, and instinctively lifts a hand to wrap it around his father's wrist. He feels the way Rodrigue tenses, like he's about to pull away ... but then Felix keeps a secure hold, holding Rodrigue's hand in place. He somehow manages to maintain eye contact, even though it seems to take a world of effort. 

"Thank you," he finally says, the words so quiet that he can barely hear his own voice, "Father." 

He knows that there is still a lot more to be said, that there are years of damage to repair between them. He knows it won't all happen at once, _if_ it will ever happen, and that he still isn't ready to forgive Rodrigue yet. 

But at least he feels a small glimmer of hope when he sees the way his father's eyes well up with emotion, when the tension eases out of his hand as it continues to rest on Felix's shoulder. 

For the first time in four years, it feels like a wound steadily being stitched closed. 

  


* * *

  


After Rodrigue takes his leave, Felix walks to the dining hall in search of his friends. 

Sylvain is already sitting in one corner with Annette and Mercedes, and they all enthusiastically wave him over. After today's ordeal, a warm sense of relief floods through him merely at the sight of their smiling faces––especially Sylvain's, now that they've finally made amends.

Maybe it's because Felix is trying to distance himself from his emotional turmoil, or just because he's thriving off the high of being able to talk to his best friend again, but he finds himself in surprisingly high spirits. He makes a joke about the song he heard Annette singing in the library the other day; Sylvain tries to coerce her into singing it for them all, while Mercedes giggles behind her hand, and Annette grips her fork and glares at Felix like she might actually jump across the table and stab him. 

In other words, all has returned to normal. 

Except ... it hasn't, exactly. Because even among his friends' chatter and laughter, Felix is aware of a nagging feeling at the back of his mind like the small but painful prick of a needle. He looks over his shoulder once or twice as if expecting to find someone staring at him, but he's not even sure what he's paranoid about. 

By now the sun has started to go down, and they've been sitting in the dining hall long enough that the dining hall staff are starting to shoot them scathing looks, which probably means they're about to be kicked out. 

Right as they're all about to get up and leave, Felix asks, "I don't suppose any of you have seen the boar around anywhere?" 

The brief silence that follows is so intense that Felix could swear he's lost his hearing all of a sudden. He wonders why the other three are all looking at him in such astonishment, and then realizes they're all probably shocked he cares anything about the prince's whereabouts. 

"No, I don't think so. Why?" Sylvain asks. There's a slight hesitant note to it, like he thinks Felix is planning to track down Dimitri and kill him. Which is ... well, Felix can't exactly blame him, what with the way he's spoken about the boar with such malice over the past two years. 

"No reason," Felix says, trying to make it sound as uncaring as possible. He stares down at the crumbs of food still left on his plate. "Just haven't seen him, and I thought it was strange."

"I haven't seen him today at all," Mercedes says quietly, with a small shake of her head. "But I suppose it's understandable. After all, considering what day it is ..."

She stops, biting her lip like she's afraid she's said something offensive.

Annette gives her a nervous look before she glances between Sylvain and Felix and offers a small smile. "Mercie's right. I'm sure he just wanted some time to be by himself, you know?" 

The two boys nod, and an awkward silence passes over them all. 

"Well," Sylvain says at last, linking his fingers together and stretching his arms out in front of him, "I should probably head out. Need to stop by the library real quick before it closes. Anyone want to come with me?" 

By the way Sylvain side-eyes him, Felix has a feeling the question is aimed at him specifically. But after a short hesitation, he shakes his head. "Sorry, I ... I think I might be heading to bed early."

Sylvain shrugs––although there's a flash of something in his eyes that looks almost like disappointment. "Hey, no worries. I know it's been a long day. We can catch up tomorrow, yeah?" 

There's a small hint of hesitation to it, like Sylvain is worried Felix is going to shut him out again, but Felix nods in confirmation. 

"Yes," he says, "we can." 

The smile Sylvain shoots him in return makes another warm sense of reassurance course over him, and he can't help but offer back a small smile of his own. 

He almost forgets they're not alone until Annette lightly clears her throat and stands up with her empty plate in hand. "I should probably be heading out, too. Ready to go, Mercie?" 

After they've all exchanged goodbyes, Annette and Mercedes walk off to deposit their plates in the washbasin. The two girls walk out the door with their arms linked and heads bowed, giggling over ... whatever girls talk about. Felix has no idea. Some idle gossip, he assumes. 

Still, he frowns as he disposes of his own plate and watches them walk away. He could have sworn he saw Mercedes look back at him over her shoulder as she said something to Annette, which is ... odd. 

"You okay?" 

Felix freezes at the sound of Sylvain's voice, and he looks up in surprise. Sylvain is standing right beside him, hands on his hips. He's studying Felix's face with a concerned frown, like he can sense something is off. 

"Yes, I'm fine," Felix answers, looking away again. 

Sylvain makes a humming noise in response, like he doesn't believe it, but he doesn't argue. "Okay, just making sure. You seemed ... I don't know. Distracted." 

Felix isn't sure how to answer that, so he just huffs out a short breath and starts walking towards the door. "A lot on my mind," is the only explanation he provides. 

Sylvain jogs to catch up and falls into step beside him as they step out into the courtyard. The evening air is fresh and cool, filled with the distant hum of frogs chirping in the pond. 

"I get that," Sylvain says as they continue across the stretch of grass. "Didn't mean to pry or anything. But hey, if you're worried about anything ... you can tell me, you know?" 

In the falling dusk, it's difficult to make out his expression. But there's an anxious glint to his eyes that catches Felix's attention. 

He's not sure what Sylvain is getting at, but he resists his urge to frown and say something scathing in response. After all, they've only just managed to patch up the rift between them. The last thing Felix wants is to rip the seams open again. 

"Thanks," he says instead, although it comes out so quiet he's not even certain if Sylvain can hear it. "I'll keep that in mind."

They pass through the open gate and step out onto the path. Sylvain comes to a sudden halt and Felix almost bumps into him. He looks up questioningly to find that Sylvain is staring back at him, opening his mouth as if he's about to say something––but then he seems to think better of it, and lets out a short sigh. 

"Alright, well ... I'm headed off to the library. See you tomorrow?" 

There's something hesitant to the way he says it, almost like he's expecting Felix to change his mind about going with him. 

Felix just nods in response. "Yeah, I'll see you." 

He thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment across his friend's face, but then Sylvain smiles again and they say their goodbyes before heading in different directions. 

As he walks away, Felix keeps resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, or to run after Sylvain. But, no. He's already made his decision, and he starts making his way across the campus towards the dormitories.

Somehow, he reaches his destination without turning around. He passes Sylvain’s room at the top of the stairs, starts walking in the direction of his own bedroom and––

He stops, one door away from his own room.

He usually passes this door as quickly as he can, fists at his sides and a feeling of utter revulsion rising to his throat. He always gives it a wide berth, as if being anywhere close to it will infect him with a deadly plague. But for some reason he stops this time, as if some unseen spell is rooting him to the spot.

A strange urge suddenly grips him, and he tries to cast it aside. _No_. There’s no way he’s going to apologize to the boar. Why should he? The prince has barely any humanity left in him, so it's not as if what Felix said this morning caused him any pain.

Yet, the memory of their conversation comes back to haunt him, like an itch deep underneath his skin. He hears his own cold accusation, blaming the boar for his brother's death, seeing the brief but pained flash in the prince's eyes.

It almost makes him wince as he remembers it, and it’s accompanied by a pang of something sharp and cold that feels suspiciously like _regret_. Maybe, just maybe, he took things a bit too far. 

He scoffs under his breath, wondering what the hell has gotten into him. First he had a decent conversation with his father, and now he’s feeling an inkling of sympathy for the boar? Unbelievable. 

Still, something prevents him from continuing his way down the corridor––although he tenses when he hears a muffled rustling from within the prince’s bedroom, followed by the creak of footsteps. Felix is about to bolt away … but right then, the doorknob rattles and turns as the door opens a crack.

The first thing he notices is that the inside of Dimitri's room is dark. Only the candlelight from the hallway provides a flickering stripe of illumination. A sliver of the prince's form is visible through the narrow space, one chillingly blue eye looking Felix up and down before the door opens a bit more. 

Now Felix can see that Dimitri isn't dressed in his usual regalia, but is wearing a simple button-down shirt and loose pants that look suspiciously like sleep clothes. Felix wonders if he's just woken from a day-long nap.

"Felix?" Dimitri blinks at him owlishly. 

On instinct, Felix crosses his arms and snaps, "Yes? What do you want?"

"I feel like perhaps I should be the one asking you that," Dimitri says, frowning in confusion. He glances down the length of the corridor as if in search of assassins or a raging fire. "Is something the matter? I thought I heard something out here."

"No," Felix says tightly. He considers following up with one of his usual derogatory remarks, maybe something about how the boar should just crawl back into his cave like the beast he is, but for once he holds his tongue. "Nothing’s the matter. Although I suppose while I’m here, there’s something I wanted to say."

"Oh." Dimitri leans back a little, as if the mere thought of Felix choosing to speak to him is more shocking than if a whole battalion was racing down the hall. "Is it urgent? You can step inside if you'd like."

He takes a step aside, sweeping out an arm to indicate Felix can enter. The gesture almost makes Felix scoff––he'd sooner step into a hungry lion's den than confine himself to a small space with the boar prince himself––but he somehow manages to hold it back. 

"That won't be necessary. I intend to keep it brief." Felix takes a deep breath, then lets it out in sharp huff. Looking away, he says, "I spoke to my old man earlier. I thought about what you said." 

He stops there, his gut turning at his implied admission that the boar was _right_ about something. The feeling only worsens when Dimitri stands up straighter, eyes widening a little in surprise. Felix can practically sense how much the prince is trying to conceal his delight upon hearing the news. 

"Is that so? That's ... I'm glad to hear it, Felix," he says, stumbling over the words. A small, inquisitive furrow creases his brow. "It went well, I hope?" 

Felix keeps his arms crossed, his posture rigid, but after a brief hesitation he gives a single nod. "As well as it could have gone, I suppose." He doesn't feel inclined to deliver any further details than that. "Anyway, there was something else I wanted to address."

A mystified look returns to Dimitri's face. He opens the door a fraction wider, shifting on his feet like he intends to step forward, but then remains in the same spot. He doesn't ask Felix to elaborate, but the unspoken question is clear in his baffled expression––like he's struggling to come up with a way to ask it without driving Felix away. 

Felix's jaw tightens and he swallows, before he finally lifts his gaze and looks Dimitri directly in the eyes. 

"It's about what I said to you this morning. About my brother's death." 

Dimitri tenses, a hand tightening on the door where he's still holding onto it. "I see," he says at last, voice devoid of emotion. "It's alright, Felix. I understand you were upset, and––" 

"No," Felix cuts him off, "it isn't. It … wasn’t alright." He shuts his eyes and opens them again, glaring at the wall right next to Dimitri's head because that's the closest he can get to looking at his face as he braces himself to say what he's about to say.

"Listen, because I'm only going to say this once," he grits out at last. "What I said was wrong. My brother may have died to protect you and your family, but it's not as if you asked him to do that. So, I take back what I said." 

Once he's managed to get the words out, Felix feels as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. It's almost physically excruciating to admit he was wrong, especially to the boar, but at least he's gotten it over with.

Unfortunately, the sense of relief doesn't last long. Felix can feel his hardened exterior forming again as soon as he notices the change in the prince's posture––how some of the tension eases from his shoulders, how his expression brightens a little, even if it's barely noticeable. 

"I––I don't know what to say," Dimitri says at last, and his voice sounds somewhat choked all of a sudden. "But, that is very much appreciated. You––"

"Let me make myself clear," Felix interrupts him. "Don’t interpret this as me forgiving you, because I'm not––especially not for what happened two years ago. I still don't trust you, but ... what happened in Duscur wasn't your fault. That's all I have to say." 

_There_. Before the boar can get any further ideas about this interaction being even remotely friendly, Felix turns around and starts marching towards his own bedroom door. 

Still, he stops in his tracks when he hears, "Felix." Although he remains tense, he spares a glance over his shoulder to see Dimitri watching after him, still frozen in the doorway. "Thank you," the prince says with quiet sincerity. 

Before he retreats back into his darkened bedroom, Felix thinks he sees a faint smile on Dimitri’s face––and, for just a moment, a glimpse of the friend he once knew. 

  


* * *

  


Things return back to their usual routine––more or less, anyway. Felix is still recovering from the anniversary of his brother's death, and the pain still lingers into the next few days. But at least the ache is dulled by the knowledge that he's righted several wrongs. 

Most notably, of course, things between him and Sylvain have healed over. However, it feels like something has changed––like they're both constantly treading a fine line, afraid of shattering what they've just managed to repair. But there seems to be a mutual, unspoken agreement that they'll never go down that dark path again. 

They fall easily back into their typical roles. They sit next to each other in class, they eat most of their meals together, they train or study in the afternoons. Although of course they don't spend _all_ of their time together, they take as many opportunities as they can to do so, as if making up for all the time they spent avoiding each other. 

Felix also finds himself scolding Sylvain for his behavior far less than he usually does. But that could be because Sylvain's behavior has been ... different. He actually seems to have taken Felix's criticisms to heart, and is putting more time and effort into working hard, and less time into fooling around. Although, now that he thinks about it, Felix realizes Sylvain had been studying and training a lot more even before they argued––Felix was just too caught up in his stupid, confusing feelings to fully realize it.

But perhaps the most notable change, in addition to that, is that Felix hasn't seen Sylvain with any girls recently. He hasn't even _talked_ about them, or bragged about any of his various conquests, or flirted with anyone. Either that or he's being especially careful not to do any of those things in Felix's presence. Even so, it seems ... unusual. 

If that weren't enough, Sylvain has also gotten a lot more _touchy_ with Felix lately––which does nothing to help Felix quell the embarrassing feelings he already swore never to indulge again. It's probably just Sylvain trying to act friendlier after the brief rift in his friendship. But more and more often, he's sitting so close to Felix that their arms brush, or squeezing Felix's shoulder, or putting a hand lightly against his back.

Each one feels experimental, like he's testing some boundary that he's never had the courage to breach before. Even if these touches are only occasional and fleeting, they always feel like a brand on Felix's skin. 

He knows not to give in to that sense of blind hope again, he _knows_ it––especially since he nearly ruined their entire friendship because of it. But even though he keeps trying to convince himself he's let go of it entirely, he knows deep down that it still lingers there, like the last dying embers of a fire that have yet to be extinguished. Maybe it was foolish of him to think he could wipe out the feeling entirely, but ... perhaps it will die out naturally on its own. He'll just have to keep believing that.

  


* * *

  


Fortunately, the universe provides a distraction.

It's been a little over a month now since their class was assigned a mission, and Felix almost didn't realize how much time has passed since their last battle. But when Byleth walks into class one day with that distinct look on their face––eyes steely and mouth set in a grim line––Felix knows they’ve been assigned something particularly harrowing this time.

The professor conveys the news in their usual tone, calm yet firm, and displaying little emotion. They explain that the class has been tasked with clearing out the bandits from a nearby pass about half a day's journey away from the monastery. On the surface it's not too different from most of their assigned missions––but the situation in this case is particularly dire, according to the reports that have come in. The thieves have several assassins within their midst, and they have robbed and killed a few traveling merchants in the past couple of days.

As usual, the mention of innocent lives being taken makes Felix's blood boil, and his hand clenches into a fist on top of the desk. Usually the initial fury is chased by a burning sense of determination, maybe even a sick sense of excitement––the thrill of having new opponents to cross blades with, of facing a challenge and coming out a better soldier on the other side. 

This time, though, something stops that usual spark of eagerness from igniting. Instead, Felix is left with an unfamiliar cold feeling that seems to spread from his heart all the way up the length of his arms. It's not like he's never dreaded a mission before––especially the more dangerous ones––but this time it feels different in a way he can't describe. 

It's akin to that feeling he had several weeks ago when they were all sitting around the fire, on the night before their most recent battle––that dark sense of foreboding that came over him, like an omen casting a shadow over them all. A reminder that any of them could die.

It haunts him again, in the quiet interior of the classroom, as he peers around at the others' faces. They're all listening intently to the professor's explanation, and Felix can see his own unease reflected in each of their expressions. He wonders if they're all thinking the same thing.

Byleth continues delivering the plan, turning to the chalkboard and sketching out a basic map of the territory where the battle will take place. The reports have stated that it's a marshy area down in a valley, prone to fog––very low visibility, which is why the bandits have taken advantage of it. The description of it only worsens the heavy feeling in Felix's gut. Sure, they've had to fight under similar circumstances before, but it's ... less than ideal. 

As the discussion goes on––the professor answering the students' questions, then assigning out a few battalions––Felix's attention slides to his right, where Sylvain is seated at the desk next to his. 

Maybe it's the severity of this particular mission, but Sylvain has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time––not providing any of his usual jokes or his comments about winning this battle in order to impress women. Instead, he appears as focused as everyone else, his amber eyes stony with determination as he listens to Byleth speak. It's the same expression he always wears right before he's about to dive into battle. The face of a soldier. 

Another cold feeling rolls through Felix at the thought, and he sharply turns his focus back to the front of the classroom. 

The professor tells them that they have two days until they depart. It's a bit short notice, but given the seriousness of the situation, Rhea requested they leave as soon as they can. In fact, she apparently wanted them to leave even sooner, but Byleth explains that two days was the best they could negotiate. During that time, they can prepare themselves properly and plan the best course of action. 

Even so, it goes by too quickly. Due to the last-minute preparations, the whole class is gathered together in the classroom for the majority of the next couple of days, even well after typical class hours have ended. 

There's not much room left in Felix's mind for anything else––which, in an odd way, he's thankful for. Soon he can practically see battle diagrams hover before him every time he closes his eyes. And when he's not in class or the dining hall, he's usually on the training grounds, perfecting the swing of his blade. 

He's not trying to drive himself to total exhaustion, of course, but the pre-battle stress and anxiety seem to be getting to him more than usual. He can't say why, but it doesn't matter. If he doesn't spend every waking moment preparing for the mission in one way or another, he feels like he'll go mad with restlessness. 

The Blue Lions gather together one last time the evening before their departure, discussing final battle plans. Of course, things could always go differently than expected, especially considering the situation may have changed since the reports were first sent. But Byleth insists on them getting down as much detail as possible, so they can be prepared for various outcomes, and Felix can't fault the professor for being so thorough. Still, he feels rather wrung out by the time their class is finally dismissed.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Felix finds a table with Sylvain and Ingrid in the far corner of the dining hall; the three of them always seem to naturally seek each other out right before a big battle, dwelling in the familiarity that comes with years of friendship. 

But although the presence of the other two is comforting, there's always a hint of something painful to it as well. Felix hates to admit it to himself, but he knows part of it is the hole in their friend group where Dimitri used to be. And even though he’s at least managed not to snap at the boar over the past few days, and things between them have improved somewhat, Felix doubts things can ever return to exactly the way they once were. 

He's suddenly drawn out of his thoughts, realizing all three of them at the table have been silent for a long time. What with the chatter at the other tables surrounding them, he hadn't particularly noticed it. But now he looks up and sees that Ingrid is sitting with her chin propped on one hand while she pushes leftover food around with her fork, while Sylvain sits back with his arms crossed and stares absently down at the table. 

The long silence is starting to make Felix uncomfortable, plus he can feel a deep sense of fatigue settling into his bones. He pushes his chair back and stands up. 

"Think I'm going to head to bed," he explains, when the other two look up at him questioningly. 

Sylvain practically leaps up from his own chair. "I'll go with you," he says––then, when Ingrid glances between the two of them and raises an eyebrow, he quickly adds, "I mean, I ... I'll walk back with you." 

Felix thinks he sees a flicker of a smirk on Ingrid's face. But almost as soon as he notices it, Ingrid sobers again. "Good idea," she says. "We should all get some rest before tomorrow." 

"Exactly," Sylvain agrees with a nod. He speaks hastily, as if he's trying to cover up something else, then clears his throat. "Do you wanna walk back to the dorms with us, Ingrid?" 

She hesitates, gaze flicking in Felix's direction before she shakes her head. "No, I think I'll stay a bit longer. Don't think I'm quite done eating." 

"Are you ever?" Sylvain asks. Ingrid sticks her tongue out at him. 

Something about the small interaction is oddly comforting, and Felix tries to conceal a smile as he says, "Well, I'm heading out. Good night, Ingrid." 

She returns the goodbye with a small wave, promising to see them both tomorrow. Sylvain pauses to pat her on the shoulder as he passes her, then calls after Felix to wait up for him and stumbles to catch up. 

"Ingrid was acting weird," Felix comments when they've almost reached the dormitories. Darkness is only just beginning to fall, and scattered stars appear in the sky overhead. 

Sylvain chuckles, but it sounds forced. "Weird how?" he asks. "Like, more than usual?"

"You know what I mean. Just something seemed ... off. Did you two have an argument again or something?" 

"What? No," Sylvain answers defensively, as they enter the dormitory building and start up the stairs. "At least, not that I can remember. She's probably just nervous about tomorrow. I think we all are." 

Felix makes a _hmph_ noise in response. "I guess you're right." He still has a nagging feeling he's missing something, but he has no clue what it is. 

They reach the top of the stairs and start down the corridor. But when Felix stops by the door to his room, Sylvain pauses in his tracks as well. Felix frowns at him questioningly. "What is it?" 

Sylvain doesn't answer right away. He maintains a few feet of distance between them, glancing down at Felix's hand on the doorknob, then back up at his face again. 

"Nothing," he says, rubbing the side of his neck. The candlelight in the corridor is dim and flickering, but Felix thinks he sees a sudden glimmer of trepidation in his friend's eyes. "Guess I'm just worried about the mission, too."

Felix's hand slips away from the doorknob. "Why?" he asks. He means it to sound merely curious, but it has an unintentional sharp edge that makes it sound more like a demand. "I don't see why there's any reason to be worried," he continues, more carefully this time. "We've been preparing for this mission for two days straight. We'll be ready." 

Sylvain takes a breath like he's about to protest, but then bites his lip. "You're probably right. And I know the professor probably wouldn't have agreed to it if they didn't think we could handle it. But, I don't know. It just feels different somehow." 

Felix can't say he disagrees. He's not certain what it is, but something about this assignment _does_ feel different––maybe just because they'll be taking on more dangerous enemies than they typically do, in addition to all the inner turmoil he's suffered these past few weeks. Whatever it is, it feels like a storm cloud forming overhead. 

"If I'm being honest," Sylvain goes on, when Felix still hasn't said anything, "I also don't like that we're gonna be far away from each other on the battlefield."

Now _that_ Felix hadn't been expecting to hear, and he's thankful that the dim light probably hides the way his face must be reddening. He thought the same thing, of course, when Byleth mapped out where all the students would be dispatched on the battlefield. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, but his heart dropped a bit when he saw the professor had assigned him to fight off bandits down in the valley while Sylvain was assigned to the hilltop. 

The professor had explained that the ground in the valley would probably be too marshy to fight effectively on horseback, and also that if Sylvain took out any enemies on the hilltop it would be an advantageous spot to station their own archers once it had been cleared out. Felix can't necessarily argue with that logic, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. 

He realizes that he still hasn't said anything––and Sylvain is regarding him with an expectant and slightly apprehensive look, like he's waiting for Felix to come to some particular conclusion. 

At last, Felix lets out a huff and crosses his arm. "You think I can't fend for myself?"

It seems to take a second for the words to sink in, and then Sylvain's eyebrows go up. "You ... ? What? No, that's not ... ugh." He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's not what I meant at all. It's just ... I don't know. We're _always_ next to each other in battle. I've kinda gotten used to it." 

Well, that's true. It's not like Felix hasn't noticed that the professor frequently assigns them to the same area. Byleth knows the two of them have been friends for years, after all, and Felix figures the professor trusts them to work in sync with each other. So, it does feel unusual for them to be separated this time––but again, Felix understands the circumstances are different considering the terrain and the number of enemies they'll be facing. 

"And hey, it's not like I don't trust you to protect yourself," Sylvain continues after a short pause. "But y'know ... I just feel better when I can see you. When I know exactly where you are."

Felix uncrosses his arms. Now he's _really_ confused––especially with the way Sylvain is staring at him with an anxious furrow to his brow, like there's some hidden meaning to his words that he's waiting for Felix to uncover. And Felix feels that strange flutter in his ribcage again, like a bird trying to escape the confines of its cage, but he locks it away as quickly as he can. 

"You'll still be able to see me," he says flatly, "from the hilltop. Well, depending on how foggy it is, I suppose."

Sylvain doesn't seem to be particularly comforted by that, but he lets out a relenting sigh. "I guess. But it's not the same. If something were to happen ..."

The underlying note of fear in his voice makes Felix's blood freeze. He can't stop staring at Sylvain, who keeps gazing back at him with that worried gleam in his eyes, like he thinks Felix is some apparition that's going to disappear at any moment. 

It reminds Felix of when they were lying in the tent together, just a few weeks ago, when Felix expressed a similar fear. Even though he's always known Sylvain must worry about the same thing, and that he's told Felix as much in the past, it's still somehow surprising to hear him say it out loud. He's not often one to display such vulnerability, which makes it feel ... concerning. Almost like he knows something Felix doesn't. 

And Felix doesn't know how to react. It suddenly feels as if there's a mile of space between them, and he wishes he had the courage to close that distance––or, well, some of it at least. But the very thought of it makes him feel practically sick with humiliation. 

Finally, he tears his gaze away. "Nothing is going to happen," he says, "to either of us." When Sylvain doesn't respond he adds, "We promised, didn't we?" 

In the corner of his vision, he sees the way Sylvain's posture stiffens at the words, then relaxes again. "Yeah," he says. Something about the softness in his voice surprises Felix into looking up at him once more, to see the small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We did." 

They're both quiet again, the silence so absolute that all Felix can hear is the slight ringing in his ears. There's a sudden tension in the way they're both standing, still several feet apart and neither of them moving a muscle.

Finally, Sylvain's hands flex a little at his sides and then fall still again. He lets out a long breath, his smile wavering. "Well," he says, "g'night, Felix. See you in the morning." 

Felix has an unexpected sinking feeling. "Good night," he returns with a small nod. 

Sylvain remains there for another half-second, like he's waiting for Felix to say something else––but when that doesn't occur, he just turns and begins to walk stiffly away, headed towards the end of the corridor where his room is. 

It isn't until Sylvain has almost reached his door that Felix realizes he's still standing there and watching after him. Quickly, he grasps at the doorknob to his own room and pushes it open. 

Once inside, he closes the door behind him and leans his back against it. It isn't until now that he realizes the way his heart is thrashing against his ribs, how he's been holding his breath like he's about to dive underwater. He exhales slowly, trying to gain control of himself again. 

"What," he mutters, "the absolute hell?" 

Because really, what _was_ that? What was that _look_ Sylvain was giving him, like he was expecting Felix to drop dead on the spot––and all that talk about not being near each other on the battlefield, about something _happening_? Yes, Sylvain has been acting a bit differently around him as of late, but that was ... more noticeable than usual. With the way he was looking at Felix, that nervous and almost expectant gleam in his eyes like he'd been waiting for Felix to say something or _do_ something or ...

No, he needs to stop right there. The last time he allowed himself to be carried away on that swell of hope, he'd only come crashing back down. He doesn't want to repeat that devastation––or worse, mess things up to an extent where Sylvain would never want to speak to him again.

Besides, even if by some miracle Sylvain _did_ want anything to happen between them––and that idea alone is laughable––it probably wouldn't mean anything significant to him ... would it? Felix can barely stomach the thought. The possibility of spending one night with Sylvain, only to find him kissing yet another girl up against a wall somewhere the next day ... well, that somehow feels more painful than nothing ever happening at all. 

Of course, he knows he's overthinking the whole thing. Sylvain has never seen him that way and never will, so what does it matter? The only reason he was acting so strange just now was because he's worried about tomorrow's battle. 

And the sudden overprotectiveness, that's just ... it's just his usual self. He's always been throwing himself in danger for others. Either that or he thinks Felix isn't prepared enough for the mission. Maybe that's it. Felix cried in front of him once, and now Sylvain thinks he's weak. 

He knows that's not the reason, but he decides to cling to it anyway––somehow, fixating on that anger feels safer than anything else, because at least it's familiar. He succeeds in doing so as he changes out of his school uniform and into his sleep clothes, and yanks the hair tie out of his hair. He tries as best as he can to hold onto that bitterness, to drown out any spark of hope with something dark and cold in its place. 

But almost as soon as he crawls into bed, he can't seem to hold onto that feeling any longer. As he rests his head down on the pillow, shivering a little in the cold emptiness of his room, he can feel the control on his emotions slipping like a series of knots untying themselves. 

He blinks up at the darkness, unable to close his eyes despite how much they ache. In the heavy silence, his heart still pounding furiously, he considers the possibility, considers what he might do if he were courageous enough. The thought almost makes him scoff humorlessly. It's ironic, in a painful way––he's willing to risk his own life with every battle, has had countless blades swung at him, has stared death in the face. Yet nothing is more terrifying than the idea of leaping from his bed right now, rushing down the hallway, and knocking on Sylvain's door. 

He knows he can't do it. He _won't_ do it.

Yet, he lies awake for a long time, alone and curled up underneath the thin blankets, allowing himself once more to indulge in his lurid fantasies––imagines the warmth of an embrace, the gentle tremor of laughter and stroke of fingertips, the soft heat of lips against his own. 

It makes something dangerous unfurl inside him, so violent with need that it almost drives him to jump out of bed again. Somehow, he manages not to give in to it––too terrified that his instincts are wrong, or could lead to something he isn't prepared for. 

But as he begins to drift off to sleep, with nothing to accompany him but the sound of his own breathing, he has one final thought: that if this ended up being his last night on earth, he wishes he could spend it with Sylvain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when will these idiots kiss already, amiright? well, there’s only one chapter left (HOLY SHIT) so hopefully soon!! ;)
> 
> i’m still working on the very end of chapter 5, so it might be sliiightly delayed depending on how long it takes me to finish it. so, there probably won’t be an update next week but i’m hoping maybe 2-3 weeks from now at the latest. sorry for the delay, but 1) it’s the longest chapter so far and i haven’t even finished writing it yet lol, and 2) it will be the last chapter so a lot of Things happen and...yeah hopefully that will make it worth the wait! 
> 
> coming up next time: the blue lions depart on their mission. and after the battle takes a dark turn, felix and sylvain confront the tension that’s been building between them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the blue lions depart on their mission. and after a near-death experience in battle, felix and sylvain finally face their true feelings for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes a deep breath* well….here it is, the final chapter!
> 
> firstly, i want to say it’s been such a fun and emotional journey writing this fic, and to thank everyone who has supported it! this was my first time writing fe3h/sylvix and honestly i was very nervous about it starting out, so it’s been such a pleasant surprise to receive so much love for it. thank you to everyone who has followed along with this fic, your support and kind comments have brought me a lot of joy in these difficult times. :’’) 
> 
> this chapter is….about 21k words. yes it’s basically a whole fic by itself lol and in retrospect i kinda wish i’d split it into two chapters but oH WELL!! it is the Grand Finale after all so i wanted it to be a doozy.
> 
> just a warning that there’s more violence and bloodshed in this chapter than in previous chapters. nothing extremely descriptive but you know….just a little uh stabbing here and there! otherwise i don’t think there’s much else to warn for, except for felix and sylvain being so stupid and oblivious you might want to punch them. but don’t worry they figure it out eventually, i promise. ;)
> 
> thanks once again to my dear friends [ang](https://twitter.com/stelllalights), [jessie](https://twitter.com/parchmints), and [noelle](https://twitter.com/genericdancer) for beta’ing! ♡

As soon as day breaks, the class departs on their mission. 

The journey isn’t terribly far, but it seems to take an eternity. Felix just wants it to be over, if only so he could know the outcome of this battle. Or, at the very least, to occupy his mind with something other than the uncomfortable turmoil of _feelings_ in his gut.

If his nerves weren't already spiking, the incoming fog only makes things worse. It's bad enough knowing that they'll soon be facing a band of murderous bandits in a marshy terrain––but knowing that they probably won't even be able to _see_ their enemies in these conditions makes Felix’s stomach feel heavy with dread.

He also didn’t sleep well, and the exhaustion feels like lead in his bones. He at least managed to drift in and out of consciousness throughout the night, but he kept waking for no discernible reason, body frozen with some unknown terror.

The same uneasy feeling creeps up on him again as he walks among his classmates through the dense and foggy forest, along with the several battalions accompanying them. When they started out at dawn, there were at least some mutterings of conversation here and there as they journeyed––but now, as they approach dangerous territory, the professor insists they remain quiet. 

An eerie silence hovers over them all, interrupted only by the clanking of armor and the horses’ footfalls against the earth. Tall, dark pines surround them on either side, and the path ahead is almost completely invisible thanks to the thick clouds of fog. 

Felix walks alongside Sylvain, who is mounted on his horse. The two of them haven’t spoken much since their conversation in the hallway last night, and Felix is having difficulty discerning the nature of this silence between them. It doesn’t feel like the cold emptiness that followed their recent argument, but it doesn’t quite feel amicable either. It just feels … tense. Not in a hostile way, but like neither of them have any idea what to say. 

Or at least, _Felix_ has no idea what to say––he knows that much. Even if he did, he couldn’t very well say it now when they’re about to march into battle. But that doesn’t stop him from staying by Sylvain’s side, which he figures is the least he can do. If he can’t voice any of his thoughts or feelings out loud, he can at least make his loyalty clear even if it’s only through subtle gestures. 

He can sense that something is off, though. Even in the face of life-threatening peril, Sylvain usually gives off an air of bravado––it’s clearly a tactic to bring some semblance of light to a dark situation, but still. 

Today, however, Sylvain’s usual confident smirk is completely absent. In its place, there’s a grim expression almost as if he’s in physical pain––his face pale, his jaw tense, his eyes like steel.

Felix is on the verge of asking Sylvain if he feels ill––because he certainly looks it––but right then, the trees part right up ahead of them. A faint outline emerges through the fog, indicating that this is where the forest ends and gives way to open space. 

Up at the very front of the group, Byleth comes to a stop and raises a hand to signal that everyone else should do the same. Stillness moves over them in a wave, footsteps scuffling to a stop. The students and the accompanying soldiers all stand at attention, awaiting the professor's orders. 

Byleth doesn't move yet, their hand raised in the air and their head tilted a bit to one side like they can hear something no one else can hear. Honestly, it wouldn't be surprising. Sometimes the professor's abilities and extraordinary instincts make an uneasy feeling prickle under Felix's skin––but he trusts their judgement nonetheless, and he remains still except for the way his hand instinctively moves to the hilt of his sword. 

At last, Byleth slowly lowers their hand. Felix can't see their face because they're still standing with their back turned to the rest of the group, but the professor's expression wouldn’t betray much emotion anyway. 

Still saying nothing, Byleth looks up at Dimitri––who is sitting rigidly on his horse, watching the professor with his brow furrowed. A silent understanding seems to pass between them, before Byleth gives a single nod and begins to creep forward. As they do so, they unsheath the Sword of the Creator and give a sharp flick of their wrist, transforming the blade into its elongated whip form. Byleth keeps their arm outstretched to one side as they proceed into the fog, the snakelike form of their weapon trailing alongside them through the grass. 

The rest of the group shifts on their feet as if to follow, but Dimitri raises his hand and gives a firm shake of his head. Felix's jaw clenches and his fingers tighten around the handle of his sword. He hates to take orders from the boar––but then again, he's been trying to be at least _somewhat_ civil around the prince these days. Not only that, but he knows how in sync Dimitri is with the professor. Sometimes he could swear that the two of them can read each other's minds. If Byleth didn't want the rest of the group to follow them yet, Felix supposes he has no choice but to wait. 

The delay seems to last forever, and the back of Felix's neck prickles with dread. What if something happened to the professor and they're all just standing here doing nothing? He wants to trust that Byleth is unharmed––he's seen how ruthlessly they fight, how they could probably take on a whole army by themself if they needed to––but with the way the silence stretches out, his blood grows cold with paranoia. 

He spares another glance up at Sylvain and sees the same worry written on his face––the small furrow in his brow, his tense posture. In one hand he clutches tightly to his lance, while his other hand rubs soothing circles against the side of his horse's neck. Like everyone else around them, he keeps his gaze fixed firmly ahead, anxiously watching the fog for the professor's return. 

It makes something unexpected stir in Felix's gut, like a physical pull urging him to do something or say something. But it's not like he can risk speaking right now, for a multitude of reasons. Instead, with a sudden lump in his throat, he turns back around and glares forward into the murky distance. 

At last, the familiar golden glow of the Sword of the Creator appears in the midst of the white fog. The dark outline of Byleth's form accompanies it, until they finally come into full view again––and Felix can almost feel a collective sigh of relief rippling through the crowd. 

However, the feeling doesn't last long. The professor's expression is difficult to read as always, but there's a hint of a frown on their face, an indication that they're up against something particularly challenging. 

"Listen closely," they say, voice firm and unwavering, and just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Visibility is poor, especially down in the valley where I suspect many of them are hiding. Exercise extreme caution, and be on your guard at all times." 

Their warning inspires nods of understanding throughout the group. Felix squares his shoulders and begins to pull out his weapon. Around him, he can see the others doing the same. 

"We'll stick to the original plan," Byleth continues. "I'll cut through the center of the valley. Those of you who have been assigned to go along with me, try to stay close. There's a few patches of forest down there, so be wary of hidden enemies. The rest of you, move around the perimeter and try to take out the archers. We'll reconvene at the far end of the valley where their leader is probably waiting, and work together to take them out. Is all of that clear?"

No one expresses any doubt or confusion over this plan, and the professor gives a single nod after they've surveyed the crowd. "Good," they say. "Then let's move out."

They turn back around, brandishing their sword. This time, as they dash forward, they're accompanied by a number of foot soldiers sprinting after them. Soon, the air is filled with the rumble of horses' hooves against the ground and cries of fury as the group surges forward and begins to split off––some headed towards the center of the valley, others branching in either direction around its perimeter. 

Felix knows he's assigned to follow Byleth towards the heart of the valley, but he stops in his tracks just as he reaches the top of the slope. Even as several other soldiers skirt around him and start running down the hill, he stays rooted to the spot and looks up––just in time to see Sylvain riding up on his horse, not far from where Felix is standing.

"Sylvain," he calls out, right as Sylvain tugs on his horse's reins to turn the other way. 

Sylvain immediately slows his horse, turning around to look over at Felix in surprise. His hardened look of determination crumbles for a moment, a touch of concern gleaming in his eyes.

Felix is frozen, unsure of what to say. He's not certain what possessed him to call out to Sylvain just now, only that he was overcome with a sudden desperation to say _something_ before they go their separate ways. He opens his mouth and then closes it again. He doesn't have much time, and he can see the others swarming down into the valley and disappearing into the fog already. Meanwhile, he and Sylvain keep standing there and staring at each other like they've temporarily been suspended from the passage of time. 

Finally, Felix takes a deep breath and says, "Good luck." He knows it's not much, but it's the least he can say right now.

Sylvain blinks, his mystified frown falling away. His mouth twitches up at one corner, almost in a smile, before that look of steadfast resolve returns to his face. He gives a single nod. "You, too," he says. 

With that, he turns and gives a sharp snap of the reins, releasing a short battle cry as his horse gallops away.

Felix waits until Sylvain is out of sight, swallowed by the dense white haze. Then, finally, he chases away the painful knot behind his sternum, and raises his sword as he rushes down the slope, towards the heart of the battlefield.

  


* * *

  


As much as he's trained for it, Felix never truly feels prepared for the intensity of battle. There's nothing quite like the indescribable rush of adrenaline through his veins, at once thrilling and terrifying. Nothing softens the blow of seeing soldiers cut down around him, whether they're friends or foes. 

The situation is just as bad as Byleth warned them it would be, if not worse. The thickness of the fog is like a heavy veil around them, obscuring their enemies from sight. Dark shadows dart out of nowhere, from all directions, and the bandits are almost impossible to see until they're only several feet away. 

Felix keeps all of his senses alert as he cuts through the heart of the valley. The muddy ground sinks under each of his heavy footfalls, and on more than one occasion he nearly slips and only barely manages to regain his footing. Luckily, the professor has made the class do drills in all types of weather and terrain, and he knows to shorten his gait to prevent himself from falling––but he can't help but feel a flicker of frustration at how the conditions are slowing him down.

Still, he progresses at the fastest pace he can manage. Ahead of him, Byleth takes out enemies left and right, the deadly arc of their sword glowing like a beacon. Although they seem to be holding their own as always, Felix remains at a near distance, keeping an eye out for any unseen attackers trying to target the professor. He's already managed to intercept a few––shadows that emerge like phantoms from the mist, brandishing weapons that flash in the dim light.

It isn't long before he's fending off bandits left and right, dodging the swings of swords and axes, occasionally ducking to avoid the arrows that fly overhead. Soon his blade is stained with crimson, having brought several lives to a bitter end. His throat is raw from crying out in fury, and his arms ache from holding up his sword. 

He spares a glance upward after felling yet another enemy, pulling his blade free with a grunt of effort as the man falls to the ground. Byleth has gotten far ahead of him by now, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Their sword gleams like an ascending star as they race up the slope towards where the leader of the bandits presides over the mayhem, his horse rearing up as he swings an axe over his head. 

Felix silently reprimands himself for being too slow. Even though most of the professor's battalion remains, swarming up the hillside after them, Felix should have been able to keep up. 

He sprints after the others, stumbling and nearly slipping in the mud again. His lungs heave from exertion and his hair clings to his forehead and sides of his face, damp with sweat, but he keeps pushing forward. On either side, he can hear the continuous clash of weapons against armor and echoing cries of fury and pain. An occasional flare of magic flickers in the depths of the fog, like the flash of lightning before a storm. 

He's almost halfway there when he catches a sign of movement to his right. When he looks over, he sees an ally soldier stumbling backwards as a dark figure leaps out of the fog towards him. The attack happens so quickly that Felix couldn't reach them in time even if he tried––he sees the gleam of the enemy's two swords and the sickening sound of blades cutting through flesh. A choked-off cry is the last sound the solider utters before he crumples to the ground. 

Felix freezes, gaze flitting between the fallen soldier and the bandit standing over him with his blood-splattered dual blades still poised. An assassin, Felix realizes with a start. One of the ones they were warned about. 

The assassin seems to take no notice of Felix's presence, although it's difficult to tell when half of his face is obscured by a dark hood. Almost as fast as he appeared, he retreats into the fog and dodges into the patch of nearby forest. 

Felix takes a staggering step forward, hand tightening around the handle of his sword and the edges of his vision going hazy with fury. Another few steps and he's standing right next to the fallen soldier, who lies on his back in the mud. 

He glances down in a momentary hope that maybe the soldier could still be alive. But the one brief glimpse is all Felix needs to determine that the man is beyond saving. His stomach turns over at the sight as he tears his gaze away, glaring into the hazy forest that the assassin has retreated into, and a sudden fiery determination blazes through his veins. 

He almost stops himself, pausing at the edge of the woods. He can practically hear Byleth's voice at the back of his mind, reminding him––as they frequently do––that it's a bad idea to go after a dangerous enemy without any backup. But the warning is drowned out by the image of the assassin cutting his ally down right in front of him. And who knows how many other innocents have died by this assassin's hand, and how many more could be killed if Felix doesn't stop him? 

With that in mind, he makes his decision. Gritting his teeth, he holds his sword up in front of him and dashes into the fog.

The dark shadows of trees rise up on either side of him like tall gate posts, separating him from the rest of the battlefield. Although he can still hear the distant sounds of fighting, they fade into the background as he focuses on his immediate surroundings. Breathing heavily, he stops in his tracks and turns in a slow circle, the wet ground squelching underneath his boots. His gaze sweeps over the trees encircling him, but he sees no sign of movement.

_Where did you go, you dastard?_ He narrows his eyes as if that will help him to see better through the fog. Still, nothing. Only his own panting breaths and the stillness of the forest. 

He's starting to think the assassin has already made his escape, and Felix curses under his breath. But he still doesn't let his guard down, keeping his sword brandished in front of himself as he takes a cautious step backwards and––

There's a sudden, barely perceptible shift in the air and a flash of movement in the corner of his vision. Felix turns on his heel just in time, raising his weapon to find himself face-to-face with his opponent. The assassin's two curved blades form a cross between them, stopping Felix's attack with a loud clang.

They remain that way for a moment, both pressing forward in a competition of strength––but they appear to be matched in that category. Felix's arms shake from the strain, and he finally leaps back with a cry. Knowing he only has a small opening to make another attack, he immediately whirls around in a tight circle for more momentum before lashing his sword out again. 

But the assassin stands his ground, swinging his blades up one at a time in a fluid motion, one and then the other. Each of them clashes against Felix's weapon, effortlessly pushing it to the side, and Felix nearly twists his wrist in his effort not to let go of the hilt. 

He stumbles back, pulse thumping in his ears as he raises his sword again. The assassin stalks towards him, the hint of a smirk visible under the shadow of his hood, and it instills a boiling rage in Felix's blood. He knows when he's encountered a worthy opponent––and although it comes with a flicker of cold dread, the burning sense of determination smothers it almost right away. 

Roaring, he leaps forward. 

He hasn't experienced a challenge like this in a long time, and the exhilaration of it soon sings through his veins. The assassin moves like a shadow, each of his maneuvers gliding smoothly into the next, as if their fight is a choreography he's already committed to memory. Felix is quick on his feet as always, but he soon finds it difficult to keep up, his head spinning from having to duck and spin and leap out of the way so many times in quick succession. His shoulders burn from swinging his sword, and from the jolt that travels up his arms each time the assassin blocks one of his attacks. 

Still, he flings out his blade in another wide arc, aiming for his enemy's head. The assassin ducks down to avoid it, so quickly it's as if he anticipated the attempt before it even occurred. Without missing a moment, he lunges as one of his blades swipes out towards Felix's side. Felix only manages to jump back at the very last second, but the tip of the sword is less than an inch from slashing him open.

That was close ... much too close. At this point, they've been fighting for several minutes straight, and Felix can feel himself weakening. He loathes to admit he's outmatched. But he also hasn't even come close to landing a single blow on his opponent, and he can feel each of his movements losing momentum. As much as he hates to retreat, he also doesn't want to die some pointless death because he was too stubborn to back down.

And so, when the assassin comes running towards him again, he makes a split-second decision and dashes off to the side, diving between the trees. He tries to use the woods and the fog to his advantage, moving in a snaking pattern in an attempt to evade his enemy. 

After sparing a glance over his shoulder and seeing no one there, he jumps behind the nearest tree and leans back against it. Trying his hardest not to make a sound, he draws a deep breath in through his nose and releases it again.

His senses feel abnormally sharp as he surveys the patch of forest around him, seeking out any telltale signs of movement. But there's nothing but the rows of tall trees, their dark silhouettes fading into the mist, and no sign of movement except for the shuddering of the branches in the wind. 

Felix remains tense, sword held across his body as he starts to inch to one side ...

Which is when he hears the slightest rustle off to the left. The sound is followed by the faint _whoosh_ of a blade slicing through the air, and Felix leaps out of the way right as a curved sword lodges itself in the tree. If he had been a second too late, it probably would have cleaved his head clean off. 

Swallowing, he stumbles backwards with the hilt of his sword clutched in both hands. The assassin, meanwhile, grunts in frustration as he rips his own blade from the bark of the tree, leaving a splintery gouge behind. In one fluid movement he surges forward again, both of his blades raised. 

Felix lurches backwards, prepared to parry the blow––but his boot collides with a solid object and it throws him off-balance. And when he tries to right himself, the slippery mud betrays him and the ground slides out from under his feet.

The world tips upwards, a blur of trees and fog. Then Felix’s back is hitting the ground with a wet slap, knocking the air from his lungs. For half a second he can only lie there, stunned, staring up at the bare branches against the pale sky. But then fire rushes through his blood again, some inner voice screaming at him to get up, and he plants a hand against the ground to push himself upwards––just as he sees the dark shadow of the assassin leap from the fog straight towards him, swords flashing as he raises one of his blades overhead. 

It happens too fast for Felix to roll out of the way. He tries to raise his sword to protect himself, but it’s already too late. One moment he’s starting to rise from the ground, and the next thing he knows, a heavy weight is slamming him back down and a debilitating pain shoots through his abdomen. 

He doesn’t even register it at first, lying dazed on the soaked ground. Some distant part of his mind realizes the assassin’s blade has pierced right through him––but he doesn’t even know _where_ , can’t feel anything except for a paralyzing numbness that sets in almost immediately after the initial shock. 

His eyes fly wide open but he can’t see for a second, his vision narrowing and blackening at the edges. But out of the haze he can make out the shape of the assassin still crouching over him, the glimpse of a sneer visible underneath his hood, before he drives the blade in deeper. 

Dark stars burst in front of Felix’s eyes, and he cries out––or thinks he does, but the sound of it seems to come from miles away. When he gasps in another breath, it feels like fire spreading through his chest. 

At the same time, some primal instinct seems to awaken somewhere at his center––a feeling he recognizes as his Crest flaring to life, as if in some desperate attempt to keep him alive. He grasps onto the feeling, pulling from that inner source of power as a last resort. With no other option, he grabs at the assassin’s wrist and releases a bolt of Thoron.

He still hasn’t mastered the spell, so all he can do is pray it will be enough. There’s a harsh crackling in his ears and a tingling up his arm as the electricity races to his fingertips, then a flash of blue light and a loud _snap_ as the lightning escapes. Above him, the assassin yells and lurches upwards, yanking his blade out of Felix’s stomach in the process. 

The sudden movement, along with the blinding flash of pain through his torso, makes Felix's whole body jerk. Another rush of adrenaline consumes him, and he somehow manages to push himself up. The ensuing agony almost pushes him back down––but he knows if he falls again, it will be the last thing he ever does. 

With that thought in mind, he lurches to his feet. His breaths are short and ragged, each one like a dagger in his ribs, but he manages to lift his sword with one shaking hand while his other arm clenches around his abdomen. Warm blood soaks his sleeve within seconds, but he does his best to ignore that for now as he looks up. 

The assassin has flown back a few feet, slumped against the base of a nearby tree. Both of his blades have dropped into the dirt, one of them freshly streaked with crimson. One of his hands twitches and he begins to raise his head––

But Felix doesn't spare him another moment to attack again. His head reels as he thrusts his sword forward, piercing the assassin through the chest. As soon as Felix pulls his blade back again, the man keels over without a sound, except for the solid _thud_ of his body falling to the ground. A quick death.

Felix has taken many lives before––but for some reason this one feels like a punch to the gut, like it's his first kill. All he can do is stand there, frozen, as if the assassin might leap to his feet at any moment. But the man lies still, never to move again.

A dull roar builds in Felix's ears, and he gives a sharp shake of his head as if that will somehow clear the noise away. Instead it only worsens his dizziness, and he takes a staggering step to the side. He blinks, seeing double, and tries his hardest to focus. 

He needs to get out of here.

The muddy ground slips under his feet with every unsteady step, but he somehow manages to make it to the edge of the woods without falling. He stops to lean against a nearby tree, trying to clear his head, but it's not much use. 

Everything feels far away and hazy, and an eerie silence permeates the air. Is the battle over? Felix has no idea, but it's also not his most pressing concern right now. He has bigger things to worry about, like how he can feel blood pulsing out of his wound with each shallow breath he takes, and now he's starting to get a strange prickling sensation in his arms and legs. That's probably not a good sign.

It occurs to him that he hasn't even looked at the injury yet, and he dares to peel his arm away from his torso just enough to glance down at the exposed wound and ... he immediately clutches his arm around his abdomen again after that single glimpse, head spinning with panic. This is bad. He's been injured many times, of course, but has never been stabbed this deeply before, and he knows if he doesn't find a healer soon it could very well be fatal. 

Somehow the possibility of death doesn't instill the terror that it should. In its expected place is nothing but a bone-deep sense of exhaustion, like all the energy is being sapped out of him. But Felix knows that he can't give in to it, that if he falls at the edge of the forest then it might be too late by the time anyone finds him. If he's going to collapse––which seems more and more likely by the second––it should at least be in the vicinity of a healer, or someone who can find one for him.

Gritting his teeth, he pushes himself away from the tree and drags himself forward. The world sways and dips in front of him. It's a grisly scene out in the open, the ground scattered with bodies and shrouded in mist, creating a nightmarish atmosphere. Somewhere in the distance, Felix thinks he hears a cheer rising––hopefully from his allies and not from his enemies. 

He trudges his way through the valley, navigating through the maze of fallen soldiers and bandits, all the while surveying his surroundings in search of anyone who might be able to help him, but he hasn't seen a single living soul yet. It's becoming increasingly difficult, what with the way his vision is slipping out of focus and his legs feel like they're made of lead. 

But at last, he realizes he's reached a slope leading up to a hilltop––and when he manages to lift his gaze, he sees two figures standing up there. One is shorter, carrying a bow over one shoulder ... _Ashe?_ The other is on horseback, red hair standing out through the fog. 

Felix's heart skips. _Sylvain_. He tries to call out, to say anything at all. But when he attempts to take a deep breath, an overwhelming pain explodes in his chest and races all the way to his extremities. The prickling feeling in his limbs intensifies until he goes numb, and dark spots blot out his surroundings.

Through his narrowing vision, he sees Ashe suddenly turn and spot him, then Sylvain following Ashe's gaze. "Felix?" he calls down the slope, but it sounds like it's coming from the end of a long tunnel, echoing in Felix's ears. "Is that you?" 

He falls on his knees. 

Everything goes gray, his body somehow feeling weightless yet heavy at the same time. He's aware of the sound of footsteps thudding towards him. Then, as he pitches forward, a pair of hands grasp him by the shoulders and hold him upright. 

" _Felix_." This time, Sylvain's voice is much closer, breathless and panicked. "Can you hear me? What's ..." He doesn't even finish the question before he looks down, just as Felix pulls his shaking arm away from his abdomen to reveal the stab wound underneath. Sylvain curses, then turns to yell something over his shoulder––at Ashe, Felix assumes, but at this point the roaring in his ears has crescendoed to a point where he can barely even hear. 

He slumps forward, forehead falling against the cold metal of Sylvain's chest plate. Right away, he feels Sylvain's solid arms wrap around him––and he tries as hard as he can to hold on to the grounding sensation of it, tries to cling to the last scrap of consciousness he has left.

"Hey," Sylvain says, voice shaking, pressing a steadying hand against Felix's back. "I've got you. It's going to be alright. Just hold on, okay?"

Felix tries to answer, but no sound comes out. It's as if his mind has detached from his body, and soon he can't feel anything ... not the searing pain in his stomach, or the wet ground under his knees, or Sylvain's arms trying to hold him up.

There's nothingness. 

  


* * *

  


He's not dead. 

Or if he is, death is much more uncomfortable than Felix expected it would be. 

The first thing he notices, as he comes to, is that the light is too bright. The stark whiteness of the fog overhead hurts his eyes, and he squeezes them shut against it. 

The next thing he notices is that his head is tilted back at an unpleasant angle, and he groans faintly as he tries to lift it up––which is when he also becomes aware of something solid underneath his shoulders. An arm, he realizes, as the person holding him tightens their grip. 

"Felix?" Sylvain's voice says from somewhere above him. It sounds a little clearer than it did before, hoarse and frantic. "Don't––Don't move." 

It's then that, through his eyelids, he can see a flicker of light, followed by the pulse of healing magic flowing into him. 

The sensation of it is ... strange and unfamiliar, and he can tell right away that it's not Mercedes healing him. Mercedes' magic always feels like a warmth that spreads through his whole body at once, like sinking into a hot bath after a long day. This particular magic is much slower, like a stream rather than a flood, directed right at the center of his core and knitting him back together bit by bit. It also feels _cold_ , but not necessarily in a bad way, more like in a way that reminds him of home––of long Faerghus winters, of pleasant walks through the snowy woods. 

It startles him into opening his eyes a crack, which is when he sees exactly what he suspected––that it's Sylvain holding him, Sylvain with a trembling hand hovering over Felix's wound, his fingers glowing with white magic. Felix can tell it's straining him, judging by the furrow of concentration in Sylvain's brow and a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. Still, he doesn’t stop. 

Through the haze in his mind, Felix feels a flicker of concern, of all things. “Sylvain,” he manages to say, although it comes out as barely more than a croak. He faintly realizes that it doesn’t hurt so much to breathe the way it did before, although he’s not certain whether that’s a result of Sylvain’s magic or whether it’s a sign his body is gradually giving up. 

Sylvain doesn’t seem to hear him—or is too absorbed in the task at hand—but after a moment, the glow around his fingers sputters and dies. He curses through his teeth, closes his eyes like he’s trying to summon that inner power again …

“Sylvain,” Felix says, more firmly this time, and … _ow_ , apparently breathing does still hurt. Or at least, speaking certainly does. But despite the spike of pain through his rib cage, he lifts a hand and wraps his fingers around Sylvain’s wrist, signaling him to stop. 

Sylvain’s eyes snap open again. He looks down at Felix in surprise, and there are _tears_ streaking down his face, which is somehow … startling. Worrying, almost. 

“Don’t,” Felix murmurs, although even the single word seems to take a world of effort. Still, he pushes on, voice rasping. “You don’t … have to.” He’s too dazed to elaborate, or even to decide what he means. _You don’t have to_ what _? Heal me? Cry over me?_

Sylvain huffs out a shaky breath, hand closing around Felix’s. “What are you talking about? Of course I have to.” He glances up for a second like he’s searching for something, then looks back down. His arm shifts under Felix’s shoulders, holding him closer. “Look, I know I’m not the best healer, but Mercedes isn’t here yet. Ashe went to go find her but I don’t know where either of them is, and I—I have to _try_.”

The words spill out of him, one tumbling over the next. For once, Felix is too tired to argue. Plus, his whole body is starting to ache again, and admittedly it did feel a little better when Sylvain was healing him.

“Fine,” he relents, though it comes out so quietly he doesn’t know if Sylvain can hear it. His grip loosens from Sylvain’s wrist. “Just, don’t … hurt yourself.” _Not for me_ , he wants to add, but he suddenly feels like his tongue is too heavy in his mouth. 

Sylvain makes a short, choked-off noise in response, something almost like a startled laugh. “Me?” he says incredulously. “You’re the one who’s bleeding out.” His voice almost breaks on the end of the sentence, as if he’s only just realized the gravity of the situation. A shuddering exhale escapes him, sounding dangerously close to a sob. "Damn it. Felix, I ..."

Felix doesn't hear the rest of it, because the roar in his ears suddenly builds up again. He doesn't realize his eyes have started to close again until he feels Sylvain's hand against the side of his face, until he hears Sylvain's voice urgently saying his name. It still sounds distant and distorted, but it's at least enough to cut through the darkness.

"Felix, hey ... _Felix_ , c'mon, stay awake."

"M'awake," Felix slurs, irritated. He would normally try to bat Sylvain's hand away, but he can't even summon the energy to lift his arm. Besides, Sylvain's hand feels ... nice, steadying and warm against Felix's skin. 

He manages to open his eyes a little, sees the blurry shape of Sylvain still hunched over him. He feels Sylvain's hand cradling his jaw as his thumb traces Felix's cheekbone, in a gesture both soothing and desperate––like he's trying to calm Felix down and also trying to keep him from slipping away. 

"Please," Sylvain says, and this time he's not hiding the tremor in his voice. Something wet drops onto Felix's face. "You can't die, okay? You have to stay with me."

That gets Felix's attention. His eyes open a fraction wider, although even that seems to take a tremendous amount of effort. His eyelids are already starting to droop again by the time he mutters, "Not ... dying." 

He wishes he could say more than that, that he was able to articulate everything he's never told Sylvain. But then again, he meant what he said––he refuses to believe this is the end. "We promised," he adds faintly, even as his eyes are starting to slide shut again. He coughs, and his mouth tastes coppery––also probably not a good sign. 

Sylvain's hand freezes against the side of his face, then resumes its movement, tracing up to push some strands of hair away from Felix's forehead. "I––I know," he says hoarsely. "We did. So, you––you have to stay. I know it hurts, but you just have to wait a little longer. I’m gonna keep trying to heal you, okay?"

Felix tries to give some indication that he heard what Sylvain said. But he can't seem to get his voice to work, much less keep his eyes open. He feels strangely at peace all of a sudden, like his soul is gradually floating away from his body. 

Darkness begins to seep into his mind again. Even as Felix succumbs to it, he can still feel the security of Sylvain's arm underneath him, can feel the thin current of healing magic flowing into him again. But it feels even weaker than it did before, and it’s not long before it comes to a stop … probably an indication that Sylvain’s magic has run out.

Distantly, he hears Sylvain saying something–– _I’m sorry, I can’t … I’m sorry_ ––and feels the light touch of Sylvain's fingers continuing to push his hair away from his face.

Then, the press of lips against his forehead. 

The first kiss is brief and fleeting, a whisper against his cold skin. The second one is longer, tinged with desperation. 

"Please," Sylvain says again, his breaths shuddering against Felix's face. "Please ..."

Everything goes black. 

  


* * *

  


Waking up a second time feels ... well, not exactly _pleasant_ , but not nearly as bad as the first time. For a disorienting moment, Felix is reminded of how Glenn used to rudely throw the curtains open to wake him up in the morning. He's almost on the verge of telling his brother to just let him go back to sleep, when he starts to remember where he is ... and that the light seeping through his eyelids isn't from the sun, but from the glow of healing magic.

He can tell it's Mercedes healing him this time, thanks to the warmth coursing through his body. When he opens his eyes, his suspicions are confirmed by the sight of her worried face hovering over him. In the lingering glow, she has an ethereal quality about her, like a literal saint descending from the heavens. 

“Felix?” she says. ”Oh, thank the Goddess. Are you alright?”

Felix blinks, eyes adjusting as the light of the healing magic dies down. Its effects are still running their course through him, tingling through his veins before fading. He still feels strangely numb, but it’s not the cold and empty numbness he felt before he blacked out—rather, it’s more like he’s just been woken up from a long and restful sleep.

As his memories return, the pleasant feeling is replaced by a jarring shock. His eyes open wider and he tentatively moves his arm to gingerly feel at his abdomen where the wound was. But besides the residual warmth of blood, the actual injury is gone. 

"Yes," he says, realizing he hasn't answered Mercedes' question yet. "I'm ..." He starts to sit up and the world spins a little, but luckily there's an arm underneath his shoulders, supporting him––which is when he realizes Sylvain is still holding him. 

Their eyes meet for a split second, and the raw emotion on Sylvain's face catches Felix off-guard. His eyes are still bloodshot from crying, and there's a disbelieving gleam to them like he's just seen Felix rise from the dead ... and, well, Felix supposes that's not too far off from what happened. 

Felix experimentally draws in a breath, and notes that it doesn't send shooting pains through his ribcage anymore. His gaze is still fixed on Sylvain, and he struggles for something to say. The first thing that comes to mind is to ask Sylvain if he's alright, but he knows that would probably seem strange considering Felix was the one on the brink of death minutes ago.

Before he can say anything, he feels a light touch on his forearm and realizes it's Mercedes, who is still kneeling on the ground next to him.

"You should probably wait a few minutes before you stand up," she advises, offering a tired smile. "The wound is healed, but it may take several days for you to fully recover." Her smile drops and she looks down. "I'm sorry, I should've gotten here sooner. I––I was almost too late."

Felix notices the signs of exhaustion on her face. Her skin looks a shade paler than usual and there's a tired glaze to her eyes. Healing him must have taken a toll on her, and the thought makes Felix's stomach clench with guilt. He knows Mercedes has always been protective of him, and although he often complains about her coddling him, he hates to think that he caused her unnecessary distress.

"Don't apologize," he says, his voice coming out a bit hoarse. He clears his throat. "You saved my life. Thank you." 

Although it sounds a bit stiff, he means it. And his gratitude seems to get through to Mercedes, judging by the way she lifts her head again and blinks at him in surprise, before her eyes well up and she gives him another tremulous smile.

Felix manages to raise himself into a full sitting position, although the world still seems a little unsteady around him. Sylvain keeps a solid hand against his back, studying Felix's face with a furrowed brow. He still hasn't said anything yet, which seems uncharacteristic.

But before Felix can say anything, he hears another voice next to him.

"Felix."

In his current daze, it nearly startles him out of his wits. When he turns to find the source of the voice, he finds Byleth crouching on the ground beside him, and he's honestly not sure whether they were there before or not. Once again, the professor seems to have an ability to appear out of thin air. 

Byleth seems to have scarcely a scratch on them despite having been through an intense battle. Besides the spatters of blood on their sword and armor, they appear unscathed and unaffected. They wear a small frown as they examine Felix––and although it's barely perceptible, just the slight change in their usually vacant expression makes Felix realize how worried they must have been. 

"How are you feeling?" they ask, tilting their head inquisitively. "May I ask what happened?"

They speak with their usual calmness, but Felix senses the concern underneath it. "I'm fine," he answers––which is true, more or less. Mostly he just feels dazed, like everything that happened was merely a bad dream. "As for what happened … I was attacked by an assassin. In the woods." 

He looks down, suddenly unable to meet Byleth's unwavering gaze. "I went after him by myself," he continues. "I realize now I shouldn’t have done that."

The professor doesn't answer right away, as if they're waiting to see if Felix will say anything more. When he doesn't, Byleth gives a single nod of understanding. They seem to consider their words carefully before they answer, "You're right. It was a dangerous risk, going off on your own without support. In the future, you'd do best to follow my orders."

Felix almost flinches at the words. He keeps his head lowered, hoping the professor doesn't see the way his face is inevitably reddening with shame. "I know," he says. "I'm sorry." 

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Byleth shift a bit, and then their hand rests firmly on his shoulder. It surprises him into looking up again and meeting the professor's gaze. There's a small, forgiving smile on their face, which is the last thing Felix expected to see.

"It's alright," they say. "I'm just thankful you're still with us, Felix. We wouldn't be the Blue Lions without you."

The professor certainly knows how to punch Felix in the chest with a few choice words. Something about that particular statement has his eyes stinging, although he fights back the sudden swell of emotion as hastily as he can. He knows Byleth is right. The class depends on him. He can't let them down just because of his own foolishness. 

But he realizes, as he looks up, that Byleth meant something much more than that. He hadn't noticed until now that all of his classmates are present, standing in a loose semi-circle right behind the professor. Fortunately, they all appear to be unharmed, but Felix can see how visibly shaken they all are. Ingrid has an arm around Annette, who keeps sniffling and wiping at her eyes. Ashe's face looks so pale you could practically count the freckles on it, even from a distance. Even the boar manages to look concerned, his brows knitted together and mouth set in a tight, worried line. Dedue stands right beside the prince as he always does––and although his expression is often difficult to read, there’s a softer gleam to his eyes than usual, a subtle indicator of relief. 

And it hits Felix that it's not just a sense of duty that ties him to them all. It's that, well, they all _care_ about him. Maybe it's time he started to take that to heart. 

The next few minutes go by in a bit of a haze. Once Felix has assured everyone multiple times that he's fine, they fill him in on what happened during the rest of the battle––they won, and Byleth took out the leader of the bandits, so the pass should be safe now. Some of the knights will be assigned to stand guard for the next few days just in case, but hopefully the conflict has been resolved for the time being. 

Felix, in turn, explains what happened to him in a bit more detail. When Dimitri demands what became of the assassin, Felix confirms that he's dead. For some reason, talking about it makes his stomach tighten, even though he knows the bastard deserved it. Sylvain's hand tenses where it still rests against Felix's back. 

Speaking of Sylvain, he remains abnormally quiet through the whole conversation. But his hand has lingered between Felix's shoulder blades this entire time, and Felix is acutely aware of it. Every time either one of them shifts even slightly, it's like he can feel sparks from Sylvain's fingertips running all the way down his spine.

It's more than a little distracting––especially because Felix can't shake away the hazy memory of Sylvain holding him, Sylvain trying to heal him and begging him to stay alive, Sylvain touching his face and pressing desperate kisses to his forehead. Part of him wonders if it was a dream, a vivid hallucination as he teetered on the edge of death. 

But if it wasn't, then Felix is itching with about a million questions. And if they weren't surrounded by so many other people right now, he would probably grab Sylvain by the shoulders and demand what all _that_ had been about. At the moment, however, all he can do is try to push it to the back of his mind as his professor and classmates discuss their plans for returning to Garreg Mach. 

By the time they're preparing to leave, Felix's head has cleared enough that he feels ready to stand. Still, Sylvain keeps holding onto his arm until they're both on their feet. Felix sways a little but quickly rights himself, trying not to look Sylvain in the eyes even though he can sense Sylvain's worried gaze flitting over his face. He has to insist he's fine about ten times before Sylvain finally lets go, but even then he seems reluctant to step away. He even asks if Felix wants to ride on his horse on the way back––an offer Felix declines with a quick shake of his head, partly out of humiliation and also because the healing magic has left him with a surge of restless energy.

As everyone gathers together to leave, Sylvain is never more than a few paces away from Felix, hovering close by his side like he thinks Felix might collapse at any second. And at this point, Felix is weary of telling Sylvain he's alright, so he doesn't protest when Sylvain remains close until he has to mount his horse. 

The troops begin their trek back through the woods. The fog has at least started to clear by now, which makes the journey a little easier, but there's a heavy weight hanging over the group. It always feels this way after a battle, particularly a very long and bloody one ... and it's hard not to feel the absence of the soldiers who lost their lives today. Although Felix didn't know any of them well, it still makes a cold feeling settle into his blood, and he shudders to think he could have been among them. 

An exhausted silence settles over everyone, and hardly a word is spoken for the first portion of their journey. About an hour in, some murmurs of conversation rise throughout the crowd, but the voices remain quiet and subdued.

In some ways, Felix is grateful for the silence. Every small sound sets his nerves on edge and a paranoid feeling creeps up his spine, like someone is going to jump out and attack him at any second. At least when there's no other sound to distract him, he can remain alert and assure himself there are no unseen attackers nearby.

On the other hand, the lack of noise leaves Felix with nothing but his own thoughts. And his thoughts keep returning to the image of the assassin leaping from the woods like a shadow, blades flashing. He keeps feeling the phantom pain of the sword running right through him, and finds himself absently touching the spot over and over again to make sure the wound isn't there anymore. 

It's almost enough to distract him from the _other_ thing weighing on his mind, which is Sylvain's nearby presence. Since Sylvain is on horseback, it's not really like they can make easy conversation anyway, but the long silence between them still makes something under Felix's skin itch. If he thought the tension was bad this morning, it's multiplied by about tenfold since then. Although neither of them has said anything regarding Felix's near death, it's like there's a dark cloud hanging over both of them that Felix knows they'll need to acknowledge at some point. But as for when they'll have the opportunity, and what the hell they're supposed to say to each other, Felix has no idea.

By the time they finally reach the monastery, it's well into the afternoon. The sky has cleared except for a few clouds, and the sun has started to dip behind the roofs of the buildings.

Felix is very tired, to say the least. Besides a couple of short breaks, the group made most of their journey without stopping. And although his wound was healed hours ago, both the physical and mental turmoil Felix has been through today has driven him to exhaustion. As soon as they all reach the monastery, Byleth urges everyone to rest for the remainder of the day––and their gaze is directed towards Felix as they say it. He can take the hint.

The professor leaves to go report to Rhea, and the troops disband. As everyone begins to move their separate ways, Felix glances up in Sylvain's direction. Sylvain is just dismounting his horse, pausing to give her a firm pat on the neck, and––

Felix turns away. He's not certain why, but suddenly his heart is hammering and his palms are sweating. He feels almost physically ill, and wonders if it’s a result of his injury. He has a feeling it's something else, though––a sudden fear of facing Sylvain after everything that happened, and whatever unwarranted emotions that might arise as a result.

Almost of their own accord, his feet start moving. And before he knows it, Felix is ducking his head down and worming his way through the dispersing crowd. 

He thinks maybe he hears a voice call after him, but he doesn't turn around.

  


* * *

  


At least for the next hour or so, Felix preoccupies himself with cleaning up. He changes out of his filthy battle gear and takes a much-needed bath, and feels marginally better once he's scrubbed the grime and blood from his skin.

He can still feel his hands trembling, though, as he pulls on some more comfortable clothing––a loose tunic and linen pants that he typically wears to sleep. As much as he keeps telling himself he needs to move on from the day's harrowing events, he can't deny they've taken a toll on him.

All he can think about is crawling into bed, as pathetic as it makes him feel. It isn't even sunset yet, but the thought of leaving his room is too exhausting to bear––especially knowing that he'll only be met with all his classmates asking him if he's alright a thousand times, which he's had enough of for one day. Maybe if he gets some sleep, he'll feel better by the morning and everyone will stop acting so concerned.

He's combing the snarls out of his wet hair when there's a sturdy knock on his door, and his heart leaps into his throat––but his pulse slows somewhat when he opens the door and finds Dedue standing there. 

Dedue is holding a bowl of soup in one hand which he offers to Felix, explaining it's something he cooked using a combination of fresh vegetables from the greenhouse and some Duscur spices. He assumed Felix was too tired to leave his room but would probably be hungry. 

Felix is a bit taken aback by the generous gesture, but he gratefully accepts the soup. He _is_ hungry, and he hadn't even thought about it until his stomach growls at the mere sight of food. After Felix thanks him––and has confirmed once again that yes, he's fine, just tired––Dedue smiles faintly and bows his head before taking his leave.

Felix watches after him for a few seconds, hesitating in the doorway, before retreating back into his room. He feels a small pang of something that he thinks might be guilt. For a long time, he's been reluctant to befriend Dedue because of his fierce dedication to the boar. But Felix is starting to see what a caring person he is. Perhaps he should get to know Dedue better. 

Also, the soup he cooked is _incredible_. Maybe it's because he's had such a long and arduous day, but Felix could swear it's the most delicious thing he's eaten in his life. He sits on the edge of his bed and eats all of it within a few minutes, and feels a little disappointed when his spoon hits the bottom of the bowl. But at least his hunger is satiated, and he sets the empty bowl on his desk for now; he can return it to the dining hall tomorrow. 

Now that he's eaten, it leaves him with little else to do for the remainder of the evening. It's getting closer to sundown, and he could just climb into bed as he was considering doing earlier––but he has a feeling that sleep won't come to him easily. And any other options, like taking out a book and trying to get some studying done, feel equally unappealing. 

Besides, there's a nagging thought at the back of his mind that he can't seem to chase away, like there's something important he's forgetting. And after giving it about two seconds of thought, he can't deny what it is. 

He wants to see Sylvain.

It's a feeling he's known since they were children, an instinct that's been ingrained in him for years. Every time the void of fear or uncertainty opens up underneath him, he's sought out Sylvain to drag him back out of it. 

In some ways it makes him feel weak––he should get ahold of himself, he doesn't need anyone else to help him. On the other hand, after nearly losing his life today ... well, things are more complicated, to say the least. He still feels strange and off-balance, and like he's starting to question everything. 

What if he had died today, and had never gotten a chance to say everything he'd wanted to say to Sylvain? Then again, what if he were to confess his true feelings, only for something like this to occur again ... something with a less happy ending? What would be the point, if either of them could lose their lives during any battle?

Felix lets out a groan of frustration as he paces the length of his room, rubbing a hand against his forehead like doing so will somehow help him sort out his confusing tangle of thoughts. But every time he feels himself leaning towards one decision or another, something pulls him back again. 

Before he can come to any solid conclusions, however, he's abruptly pulled from his deliberation by the sound of another knock at his door. 

His first thought is that maybe it's Dedue again––but this knock is quieter, two raps with a short pause between them. Felix's heart does that funny leap again at the sound, but he quickly gathers his composure. No use getting anxious when he doesn't even know who's on the other side of the door. Still, he has to take a steadying breath before he manages to take a few strides across the room and grasp the doorknob. 

When he opens the door, his breath comes to a halt in his chest. Because, as he simultaneously hoped and feared, it's Sylvain. He still has one hand raised, like he was about to knock again, but he immediately drops it and holds his fist behind his back like he was just caught doing something he shouldn't have. 

"Felix!" he says, like he's surprised to find Felix in his own room. The greeting sounds oddly forced and a bit choked, and he clears his throat as he looks Felix up and down. "Sorry, were you asleep?" 

"What?" Felix says, before remembering he's in his sleep clothes and has his hair down. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of Sylvain standing there, dressed in his school uniform but without his jacket, the top few buttons of his white shirt undone as usual. Heat spreads from Felix's face down his neck and he looks sharply away before he answers, "No, I wasn't asleep. What did you want?" 

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Sylvain's shoulders droop a little. "Nothing," he says. "Just wanted to check on you, since ... well, you kinda just took off when we got back to the monastery. I was worried you weren't feeling good. Dedue said he was gonna bring you some food and make sure you were okay and everything, but ..." He trails off, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

"He did," Felix confirms, gaze trailing towards the floor. He keeps a hand braced against the door. "And I ... I'm sorry for running away like that earlier. But I'm fine. I just needed some time to myself, I guess."

Sylvain shifts his weight from one foot to the other before he nods in understanding. "Makes sense. I just wanted to be sure you were okay." 

A brief silence falls over them, and Felix finally looks up and sees the way Sylvain is looking back at him, a small but noticeable furrow in his brow. 

"So," Felix says, "is that all?" There's a hint of a challenge to it, and he finds there's a fluttering feeling in his chest, a fragile hope that hinges on Sylvain's response. 

Sylvain seems surprised by it, his eyes widening a little before returning to normal again. He takes a deep breath like he's about to say something, but then sighs and shakes his head. "No, that's it." He offers a weak smile, but it's not at all convincing. "I know you probably need to rest, so––" 

"You can come in," Felix says before he can stop himself. He opens the door a bit wider, still looking Sylvain in the eyes and trying to ignore the way he can feel his own pulse quickening to an alarming rate.

There's still a bit of a dare to it––in the way he pins Sylvain with his stare, putting the decision in his hands. Maybe the intensity of it is greater than he intended, judging by the way Sylvain suddenly looks pale and stiff like he's standing at knifepoint. But after a moment of chewing his lip in hesitation, he releases his breath. 

"Felix, you don't have to ... I mean, if you want to be alone––" 

"I don't," Felix cuts him off. The admission seems to come out of its own accord, and Felix snaps his mouth shut. His momentary air of confidence vanishes in an instant and he glares down at the floorboards. 

Yet, he doesn't have time to take back what he said before Sylvain says quietly, "Oh." And then, after clearing his throat, "Okay." 

Afraid he'll say something even more embarrassing, Felix opens the door a little wider and steps aside. He still can't make eye contact with Sylvain, who takes a couple of steps into the room and closes the door behind him. 

They stand there for a few long seconds, a couple of feet between them. It's not much of a distance, but it feels like a fathomless ocean. 

"So," Sylvain says, taking a tentative step away from the door. It takes all of Felix's willpower to stand his ground and not back away, although he tenses and crosses his arms on instinct. Sylvain seems to notice, a flash of something pained in his eyes before he asks, "Are you sure you're alright?" 

A flicker of annoyance runs through Felix and he lets out a short sigh. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm _fine_. You don't need to keep fussing over me." 

He doesn't expect the way Sylvain immediately reacts to the words, his worried frown deepening and eyes flaring with a sudden heat. "Will you stop it?" 

There's a sharp edge to his tone that catches Felix off-guard, but he matches it with his own fire. "Stop _what_?"

"I don't know––acting like you didn't almost die today?" Sylvain shoots back. "Acting like I'm not supposed to care about you?" 

Felix nearly flinches at the word _die_ like it's a physical blow. But after the initial shock wears off, he starts to process what Sylvain has just said, the strain of emotion in his voice, the glimmer of wetness in his eyes. _Oh_. His stomach drops like a stone. 

"Sylvain ..." It comes out quiet and hoarse, but it's all he can manage. His arms uncross and slip to his sides, but then he's not sure what else to do or say. 

Sylvain barely seems to have heard him anyway, his gaze trailing towards the floor. "I'm sorry," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to ... I just ..."

He seems at a loss for words, and Felix can't blame him. He's equally speechless, unable to come up with anything to say that feels like enough. All he knows is that he suddenly feels like all the energy has been drained out of him. The last thing he wants to do right now is argue.

"Do you want to sit down?" he asks, for both of their benefit. 

Sylvain glances up at him in surprise. Then, after a couple of seconds, he nods. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

Felix sits down on the edge of his bed. Sylvain takes a few steps to the center of the room, eyeing the chair next to Felix's desk before he seems to change his mind, and he sits down on the bed next to Felix. He lowers himself down slowly, leaving a gap between them, like he's afraid one wrong move could scare Felix away. But Felix doesn't move a muscle.

"I'm sorry," Sylvain says again, head lowered. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I just ... I know you're okay now, but I can't stop thinking about it. About what happened."

He props his elbows on his thighs, wringing his hands together as he stumbles over the words. There's a certain nervous energy about him that seems unusual for him, like he's holding back more that he wants to say––but whatever it is, he doesn't say it, doesn't even look Felix in the eye.

Felix doesn't know how to respond. At last, all he can manage to say is, "I know." He can't say much more than that. He's already told Sylvain numerous times that he's fine, but it won't erase the horror of what happened. And he can't promise that it won't happen again, because there's always a chance that it could. 

His hands clench on the edge of the mattress. "I'm sorry," he adds quietly.

That catches Sylvain's attention, and he looks over at Felix as he sits up straight. "Sorry?" he repeats, the pitch of his voice rising in incredulity. "For _what_?" 

"For ... I don't know, for putting you through all of that," Felix says. He keeps glaring downward, searching blindly for the right words. "It was because of my own foolish actions that I almost got killed. It wouldn't have happened if I'd just done what the professor told me to."

A tense silence meets his words, then Sylvain inhales slowly before saying, "It's not your fault, Felix. I mean, you shouldn't have gone after that assassin by yourself, but ... I'm sure you had a reason." 

In most circumstances Felix would snap at Sylvain for telling him what he should and shouldn't do, but he doesn't have the energy to argue. 

"I did," he admits. "I saw him kill an innocent man. One of our soldiers." His jaw clenches as he picks aggressively at a loose thread in the sheets. "I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't let that dastard get away with it."

Before Sylvain can stop him he goes on, "But it doesn't matter what my reasons were. I went against orders, and I could've gotten myself killed. I ..." He swallows. "I could've broken our promise."

Sylvain is quiet for another moment before he shifts a bit closer. "Felix," he says––then pauses again like he's not certain how to continue. "Really, you don't have to apologize. If either of us should be sorry, it's me."

Felix's attention snaps upwards, fixing on Sylvain intently. "What are you talking about?" 

"I ..." Sylvain starts to say, then falters. He's not looking at Felix anymore, but staring towards the floor as he takes a deep breath and lets it out again. "I can't stop blaming myself, somehow. I feel like I should've been there for you, like––like I should've …"

He doesn't finish the sentence, and Felix stares at him in bewilderment. "Should've what?" he says. "Taken the blow for me?"

At that, Sylvain turns towards him with a wide-eyed look. He opens his mouth like he's about to protest, then closes it again when Felix continues to give him a challenging stare. "I don't know." He rubs the side of his neck before his hand drops back into his lap. "Not necessarily _that_ , but … I should've been fighting at your side."

Upon hearing those words, all of the fight seems to leave Felix's body at once. He can't look away from Sylvain, from the way he resolutely stares down and tenses like he's bracing himself for Felix to argue with him. 

And, truth be told, that _is_ Felix's first instinct. _Don't be ridiculous_ , he wants to say, or, _You can't always be there to protect me._ Instead, he stops and considers his words before opening his mouth for once. He feels like he's walking on a razor's edge, like a single wrong word could hurt Sylvain beyond repair. 

"Don’t blame yourself," he chooses to say at last, keeping his tone as firm as he can. "You were where the professor told you to be. And anyway, even if you'd been with me, there's no telling if you could have prevented it or not." 

Sylvain bites his lip before he answers, "I know. But it's not just that. It's ... after you were wounded, I––I felt so helpless. I couldn't do enough to save you."

He absently clenches one hand and then unfurls his fingers again, as if to recall the feeling of summoning his healing magic. Felix watches the movement, and can almost feel the phantom sensation of that magic flowing into him, like a ribbon of energy tethering him to Sylvain, and his face feels absurdly warm. Despite his embarrassment at the thought, he's more concerned with the pained expression of guilt on Sylvain's face, and is gripped with determination to do anything to make it disappear.

Before he can lose that surge of confidence, he reaches out to put his hand on Sylvain's knee. Sylvain tenses at the physical contact, but doesn’t pull away. When Felix looks up, he summons all his courage to lock gazes with Sylvain––even though it makes his heart pound so furiously he worries Sylvain can hear it.

"Sylvain," he says, "you did more than enough. You're not even a healer, and you still tried to heal me––and that probably kept me alive until Mercedes got there. Besides, it was ... it was enough just to know you were there."

He stumbles a little over the last part, stopping abruptly when he realizes he's probably said far too much. Sylvain blinks at him in astonishment, or bewilderment maybe, before he breaks eye contact and looks down at Felix's hand still resting on his knee. Felix had almost forgotten it was still there, and he's about to snatch it away again ... when Sylvain rests his own hand over it and squeezes gently.

"I was scared," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I really thought I was going to lose you."

Those words, and the sudden vulnerability behind them, feels like the blow of a war hammer straight to Felix's chest. At the same time, he's acutely aware of the feeling of Sylvain's hand resting over his, how his hand is slightly larger than Felix's own. Its comforting warmth seeps into Felix's skin, simultaneously grounding him and also making him feel like he's going to disintegrate on the spot.

He realizes he's been silent for too long, and struggles to find something to say in return––anything that might serve as even the slightest consolation. But he's not good with words the way Sylvain is. He wishes he was.

His mouth feels dry all of a sudden but at last he manages to say simply, "You didn't." That doesn't quite feel like enough so he adds, "I'm still here."

He almost winces at himself for stating the obvious. But shockingly, it seems to have at least some effect on Sylvain. There's a sudden new glimmer in his eyes, and he releases a shaking breath as his mouth turns up at the corner in a faint smile. 

"Thank the Goddess for that," he says. His thumb brushes along the side of Felix's hand, idly tracing a small scar that's been there for years––an unfortunate incident during one of his first sword trainings as a child. Sylvain doesn't even look down as he touches it, as if he already has its location memorized. 

The room suddenly feels a lot smaller. The sun is setting outside, casting a hazy orange glow through the windows. Felix feels a little dizzy, especially with the way Sylvain is still looking at him, and it makes him wonder if maybe he's dreaming. 

He doesn't remember moving, but he could swear there's less distance between them than when they first sat down. It wouldn't take much effort to just close that gap completely, to just lean forward and ...

Felix stops himself mid-thought, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again before he looks away and slides his hand out from under Sylvain's. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way Sylvain's hand clenches on empty air, hovering for a moment before it settles down against his leg again. 

"You alright?" Sylvain asks. 

"Yes." It comes out sounding hoarse and unconvincing, and Felix clears his throat. "I'm just ... very tired."

It almost physically pains him to say the words, but he's so mortified by what he almost did just now that he can think of little else. 

"Oh," Sylvain says, his voice going flat. "That––That's understandable. If you want to go to sleep, I can just ..."

He starts to get up, but Felix says, "Wait." Sylvain had shifted like he was about to stand up but now he freezes and settles down again, looking over at Felix quizzically. Felix hesitates, looking off to the side and not meeting Sylvain's eyes. "I didn't ... I didn't mean you had to go."

Even getting out those words seems to take a world of effort, and Felix is certain his face is going bright red and prays that Sylvain doesn't notice. "You mean," Sylvain says slowly, "you ... want me to stay?" 

There's an underlying note to it that Felix can't quite decipher, like there's some other meaning behind the question. It makes a prickling feeling travel up his spine, and his fingers curl into the sheets where they rest against the edge of the mattress.

"You don't have to," Felix says, dodging the question. "Or if you want to, it doesn't have to be the whole night, just ..."

"Until you fall asleep?" Sylvain supplies when Felix doesn't complete the sentence. 

It should probably make Felix feel utterly humiliated, like he's weak for asking Sylvain not to leave, but ... somehow, it doesn't. It instills a warm sense of comfort that he hasn't felt in a long time, one that makes him recall all those years ago when he and Sylvain would often fall asleep in each other's beds as children.

He nods.

He braces himself, worrying for a split second that Sylvain will ridicule him for it. Instead, Sylvain just lets out a breath––what might be a sigh of relief. "Okay," he says. "Of course I will." 

There's a tiny thrill in Felix's chest, like a match igniting. But he tries to tamp it down as best he can, reminding himself once again that he can't let his thoughts get carried away. He does, at least, manage to say quietly, "Thank you."

"Hey, don't mention it," Sylvain answers, and there's a fond lightness to his voice that wasn't there before. "That's what friends are for, right?"

That little spark of hope dissipates. _Right_ , Felix thinks, pulling himself back down to earth again. _Friends_. 

There's not much point in delaying it, so he starts to adjust his position, moving over to the side of the bed closest to the wall and lying down on his back. As if taking a cue, Sylvain moves at the same time, sitting next to Felix––and then, after a brief pause, he lies down on his side with his head propped up on one hand. 

Felix can't help but think of when they were in a similar position in the tent just a few weeks ago, and the thought makes his heart climb into his throat. At least back then he felt relatively protected by the cover of darkness. Right now he feels much more exposed and vulnerable, lying in the golden stripe of sunlight that falls across his bed. 

Neither of them speaks or moves, and Felix's skin prickles as he remains acutely aware of Sylvain's presence next to him. 

"Are you just going to lie there and stare at me?" he snaps, in an attempt to break the lengthy silence. 

Sylvain stiffens, blinking in bewilderment. They're close enough that Felix notices once again how dark Sylvain's eyelashes are in contrast with his light-colored eyes. "Well ... what else do you want me to do?" 

There's about a thousand ways Felix could answer that question, none of which he has the courage to say out loud. Instead he just scoffs and turns his head slightly so he's glaring at the wall next to him. "I don't care, do whatever you want. I just can't fall asleep if you're _watching_ me like that." Sylvain lets out a breathy laugh at that, and the sound makes Felix's heart beat irregularly. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Sylvain says, shifting a little closer. "It's just a relief that you're acting like your usual self, that's all."

Felix doesn't know how to respond, so he lets out a faint huff and closes his eyes. He lies still for a minute, trying to slow his breathing and calm the traitorous racing of his heart. Even with his eyes closed, he swears he can feel Sylvain's gaze lingering on him, and that makes it awfully difficult to relax. 

He's about to berate Sylvain for staring at him again, when his thoughts are cut off by the sensation of the mattress dipping next to him and the sound of the sheets rustling as Sylvain moves closer. Then, the weight of an arm draping across his torso. 

That certainly gets his attention, and he immediately snaps his head towards Sylvain and opens his eyes a crack––and almost stops breathing when he realizes that Sylvain's face is _right there_ , so close that their noses almost brush. Sylvain's eyes are open, too, and there's a small smile on his face that looks uncharacteristically timid, like he's expecting Felix to push him away. 

But Felix doesn't, even though the rational part of his mind is shouting at him to move away before he gets any foolish ideas. Instead he frowns and asks, "What do you think you're doing?" He intends for it to come out more demanding, but it sounds more hoarse and breathless than he thought it would. 

Sylvain seems undeterred by the question, although his smile wavers. "Just thought this would be more comfortable," he says. "There's not a whole lot of room on this bed."

Felix doesn't bother to point out that there _is_ a decent amount of room on the bed; it's at least wide enough to fit the two of them. But it's difficult to formulate any words at all when he's distracted by the feeling of Sylvain's arm draped around his waist, warm and solid and reassuring. He only pouts in response. 

"Aw, c'mon. Don't look at me like that," Sylvain says, an amused and teasing lilt seeping into his voice––a tone that's always gotten under Felix's skin, although he'd never admit it. "It's kinda nice, isn't it? Just like old times."

Some of the tension eases from Felix's bones. Sylvain is right. Being this close to each other _does_ , admittedly, feel nice. And yes, it reminds him of their childhood days when they'd sometimes fall asleep next to each other and wake up with their limbs tangled together. 

His mouth twitches involuntarily upwards at one corner, as much as he tries to maintain a frown. "I suppose," he relents, weak as ever to Sylvain's charms. 

Sylvain lets out a soft laugh, and the low vibration of it shudders through Felix’s shoulder. Sylvain’s arm wraps further around Felix and pulls him closer––and Felix doesn't resist. In fact, despite all the warnings erupting at the back of his mind, he leans tentatively into the embrace and rolls onto his side so he's facing Sylvain. Lying face to face of course is much too dangerous, so he presses his forehead into Sylvain's chest. 

Sylvain goes rigid for a second and Felix has a moment of panic that he's done something too bold. But then Sylvain relaxes again, one of his hands pressing between Felix's shoulder blades. His chin rests against the top of Felix's head, and he lets out a satisfied sigh that shivers over Felix's hair. 

It feels so natural to curl up against him, like some latent instinct that's finally been awakened after many years. Felix hardly realizes he's doing it until he finds himself relaxing into Sylvain's arms, his face still buried against Sylvain's chest and one hand clutching loosely at his shirt. He inhales slowly, deeply, and even the familiar scent is a grounding consolation––something that reminds him of home, like woodsmoke and crisp winter air.

He can't even find it in himself to feel embarrassed anymore, suddenly struck with a realization like a bolt of lightning, that he could've _died_ today. And if he had died, he would never have experienced this moment, would never have been held by Sylvain like this. He would have left Sylvain behind. 

The thought is too painful to even bear, and Felix's eyes sting as he allows them to drift shut, as he buries his fingers even more deeply into the fabric of Sylvain's shirt––a silent indicator that he doesn't want to let go, that he'll stay as close to Sylvain as he can for as long as possible. And Sylvain returns the unspoken sentiment with his own gestures, with the gentle circles he rubs against Felix's back and the fingers he curls into Felix's hair. 

Cradled against Sylvain's chest, Felix can hear his steady breathing and the deep and reassuring thump of his heart. He soon finds himself matching Sylvain's inhales and exhales with his own, the sound calming and pulling him under like the rhythm of ocean waves.

It isn't long until he loses himself in it, enveloped in warmth and the fading glow of sunlight and _Sylvain_ until there's nothing more. All the harrowing events of the day, every thought and worry and insecurity, are lost––at least for now––to the swell of unfathomable bliss that rises to sweep him up and carry him away. 

But it's not for very long.

Because as he's beginning to sink into the murky depths of sleep, a slight movement beside him pulls him back towards the surface of waking. It's subtle––nothing more than the mattress dipping a bit as Sylvain shifts his position again. It's only when Felix feels a sudden gap of cold air between them that he realizes Sylvain is moving _away_ ––and still only half-awake, Felix frowns and makes a small noise of displeasure as his hand clenches tighter to the front of Sylvain's shirt, trying to keep him in place. 

Felix keeps his eyes closed, but he feels the way Sylvain freezes. He thinks for a moment that Sylvain is about to pull away entirely––but instead, ever so slowly, his hand slides up Felix's arm, brushes the side of his neck, grazes across his brow. Each light touch brings Felix closer to full awareness, but he keeps his eyes closed, even as his pulse quickens.

It feels almost practiced by now, the way he lies completely still, the way Sylvain's fingers deftly brush wayward strands of hair away from his face and tuck them behind his ear. Felix is no stranger to the effect it has on him, like some phantom hand is reaching into his ribcage and tugging at his heart. He recognizes the sensation of Sylvain's warm breath against his skin, how his fingers hover by Felix's jaw like he wants to rest them there but is afraid to. And then, finally, the press of his lips to Felix's forehead. 

It brings Felix back to the first time this happened, all those nights ago when they were studying together in his room. Just like every time it's happened since then, it instills the same wild fluttering right behind Felix's sternum. The kiss is a lingering one this time, a soft press that feels tender and almost sad in a way that makes everything in Felix ache. It makes him realize how tired he is of running from this, and how badly he wants to chase after the desire that courses through his veins like a wildfire. 

And so, this time, he opens his eyes right as Sylvain pulls away. 

Time seems suspended for half a second as their gazes meet––as Felix takes in the soft and almost reverent look on Sylvain's face, which makes his lungs freeze. Does Sylvain always look at him like that when he thinks Felix isn't looking? But it doesn't last long before Sylvain's expression drops in realization, his eyes widening as he stares at Felix and Felix stares back at him.

A flush rises to Sylvain's face, and Felix can feel heat rising to his own cheeks at the same time. He has no idea what expression he's wearing––whether it looks like shock or anger or confusion, but he keeps gazing intently at Sylvain as if in a silent challenge. 

"Um," Sylvain says at last, voice almost cracking on the single syllable. He starts to open his mouth again like he intends to say more, but nothing comes out. 

"Why do you always do that?" Felix demands, and it comes out a bit sharper than he meant it to. The words spill out of him before he can stop them, and it's only after he's blurted it out that he realizes the implication of what he's just said. 

He hears the catch in Sylvain's breathing. The color drains from Sylvain's face, the blush succumbing to a pale shade that makes the freckles across the bridge of his nose stand out. "I ..." he starts to say, then clears his throat. "‘Always’ ... ? What do you mean? I don't––"

"I'm not an idiot, Sylvain," Felix snaps. His heart thunders in his ears and a voice at the back of his head is yelling at him to shut up––but, well, it's not like he can take it back now. "I know you've done it before––that time we were studying together, and in the tent a few weeks ago, and at the training grounds, and today when I was ..."

He stops, partly because he can't seem to get the words out and partly because Sylvain's eyes have glazed over with a sudden pained look, like each of Felix's words is a blade digging deeper into his chest. _Shit_. Oh, no. This is all wrong. Felix should've kept his mouth shut. He didn't mean to sound so harsh and accusatory, but as usual he's gone and said something hurtful without meaning to, and Sylvain is suddenly sitting up and turning away and––

"Sylvain." Felix sits up too, one hand shooting out to grab Sylvain by the wrist and stop him from getting up. "Don't––don't go. I'm not angry, I promise. I just ... I want to know _why_." He tries to soften his voice a little, but he can't prevent the edge that seeps into it, the tinge of desperation that chokes the words out of him. 

Meanwhile, Sylvain still won't look at him, his head lowered. Then finally he collects himself again, eyes fluttering shut as he takes in a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he says, so quietly that it's almost a whisper. "Felix, I'm so sorry." 

"Sorry?" Felix repeats. His head feels light and it's like he's hearing his own voice from far away. "For what?"

"For ... Goddess, I don't know how to explain myself. I never thought you knew, but that's not an excuse. I just ..." His eyes open again, although they remain downcast. "I figured it was my only chance, because otherwise you'd push me away, if you––if you knew the truth."

The words tumble out of him like he's been trying to formulate an excuse for a long time, like he knew eventually he'd be caught and like he expects Felix to lash out at him for it. And ... Felix doesn't know what to make of all this. He feels like this is happening too fast for him to put the pieces together, and there's no way it means what he thinks it does. 

"Sylvain, slow down," he says. He grips more tightly to Sylvain's wrist like it's an anchor, keeping him from floating away. He struggles to bring himself back down to earth, to ask the question that burns at the tip of his tongue. "What do you mean? What truth?"

"That I'm in love with you."

Everything stops. 

The confession lingers in the stillness between them, echoes in Felix's ears, and it's all he can do to stop his jaw from dropping in disbelief. Because ... no, he must have misheard. Either that, or maybe he really did die earlier today, and this is some cruel hallucination before the Goddess claims his soul. 

But one moment passes and another, and the room doesn't dissolve around him. Felix is still awake, still breathing, watching as Sylvain hunches forward and buries his head in his hands. 

Felix doesn't remember letting go of Sylvain's wrist but he must have, because now his hand is lying uselessly on the mattress next to him––and he's terrified to even reach out and touch Sylvain, like it will cause him to shatter into a million pieces. 

There are many things he could say right now, but all that makes its way out of his mouth is a choked and breathless "What?" 

Sylvain doesn't move, still doubled over and holding his head for a few long moments, before he slowly rises up again and his hands fall limp into his lap.

"I was never going to tell you," he says at last, voice trembling like he's on the verge of tears. His hands are visibly shaking as his fingers curl towards his palms. "I knew it would mess up everything between us, and––damn it, I guess I've already done that now that I've said it, huh? No point in hiding it anymore." He lets out a shuddering breath that might be a humorless laugh. 

"Believe me, I've tried to get over it," he goes on. "I've tried everything to distract myself from it, but I––I just can't seem to do it. Nothing and no one makes me feel the way you do.

"You … you’ve always made me want to be a better person. And I thought it was because I was scared of letting you down––which I am, but I realized recently that it’s more than that. It’s because I wish I was worthy of you."

Felix is still staring at him in complete shock––but at the same time, everything starts to make sense. The way Sylvain has been studying and training so much more lately, that girl Felix caught him with just a couple weeks ago ... Those were all him trying to _distract_ himself? From _Felix_?

"Sylvain," he finally manages to say, but it comes out as hardly more than a croak. 

"Listen, you don't have to say anything," Sylvain interrupts. He runs a hand through his hair, biting his lip nervously as he continues to look just about anywhere that's not Felix. "And I don’t blame you if you don’t even believe me. But the truth is, all the girls … none of them ever meant much to me. Which I guess is obvious, but I realized it was partly because … well, it was easy to let them all come in and out of my life, because I would never get attached, and I would never really miss them after they were gone.

"But you … I don’t think I could live without you. What happened today only made me more certain of that. And I … I just feel so sick and dishonest keeping it a secret the way I've been doing. Even if you don’t feel the same way about me, you're my best friend, and I at least owe you the truth about––about why I've acted the way I have."

There's still a grim and hopeless note to his tone, a stiffness to his shoulders like he's expecting Felix to spit out some harsh rejection at any second. Felix could almost laugh at the irony. Or cry, maybe.

He keeps moulding Sylvain's words into different shapes, trying to make sense of them, and a small seed of doubt still lingers at the heart of it all. He looks down, staring fiercely at the few inches of space on the mattress between them, at Sylvain's upturned palm, at his own hand twitching once against the sheets.

"So," he says, "are you saying you're ashamed of it?"

That finally gets Sylvain to look at him, his eyes going wide. "What?"

"You said you were trying to get over it," Felix says tightly, still refusing to meet Sylvain's gaze. "I'm just asking if it meant that you didn't ... want to. Feel that way, I mean." 

It comes out so haltingly that Felix almost winces at how nonsensical it sounds. But now that he's asked it, he finds himself holding his breath as he waits for the answer. 

"I ... Felix, no," Sylvain says after what feels like an eternity. He lets out a short sigh. "That's not what I'm saying. It's just ... I feel selfish that I've acted on my feelings when I thought you weren't aware of it, just because I was afraid of you pushing me away. It was wrong of me. Especially when I know you don't want––" 

"How do you know," Felix says, "what I want?"

His gaze snaps upwards, and his hand reaches out of its own accord and grasping at the collar of Sylvain's shirt. He looks Sylvain right in the eyes and watches the way his pupils dilate.

Sylvain swallows as he meets Felix's challenging stare. He looks dazed for a moment, like someone just hit him over the head, before he comes back to his senses again. 

"I guess I don't," he admits faintly. His eyes search Felix's face, flickering between bewilderment and hope. "What … What do you want?"

The question feels like the weight of the universe on Felix's shoulders, an infinite amount of possibilities hinging on how he answers. But right now, he really only wants one thing.

"I want you to kiss me."

He almost doesn't recognize his own voice, low and hoarse with a commanding edge that he isn't accustomed to. Sylvain seems equally––if not more––shocked by it, evidenced by his audible intake of breath. Felix worries that he's said the wrong thing––but now that he's said it, it's all he can do to keep staring into Sylvain's eyes, with an intensity he hopes comes off as sincere rather than intimidating.

Sylvain's eyebrows have risen in surprise––but now they start to go down again, furrowing a little as he blinks and glances down at Felix's mouth. He still doesn't move, as if some unseen force is physically holding him back. 

"Felix," he says at last. "You don't have to ... Just because I ..."

"Sylvain," Felix cuts him off, settling on a more gentle tone this time. His fingers curl into Sylvain's collar to tug him even closer, so close that their noses almost brush. There's a rushing sound in Felix's ears and his heart feels like it's about to wrench its way out of his ribcage, but he still somehow manages to say the words he's been afraid of saying for so long. "I love you, too."

He never imagined that saying it out loud would feel so natural, so freeing, like rising from the depths of the ocean when he thought he was drowning. It's ... exhilarating, in a way he never expected it to be, more so than any battle he's ever fought, and just as frightening in its own way. 

But it's worth the risk of baring his soul, if only to hear the shuddering breath that Sylvain releases in response, to feel the way it shivers against his mouth. 

"Oh," Sylvain says, and Felix wonders how so many emotions can be contained in a single syllable––incredulity and relief and awe. He can practically sense Sylvain having the same realization Felix had himself only a minute ago––all the pieces fitting together until they form a larger whole. "You ... do?"

There's a small note of disbelief in the words, a hint of vulnerability that makes Felix's chest ache––and that also, somehow, makes this whole thing a lot less scary. "Yes," he says with a light scoff. "Do you really think I'd lie to you about something like that?"

Sylvain lets out a quiet chuckle, breathless and a little choked, like he might be about to cry. "No," he says, and it's barely more than a whisper, like it’s one of the secrets they used to exchange as children. "I know you wouldn't."

"Good." Felix leans in, eyes drifting down towards Sylvain's slightly parted lips. They're breathing the same air now, shallow breaths mingling in the mere inch of space between them. "Now, can we ... ?"

"Yes," Sylvain breathes out, before Felix can even finish the question. "Goddess, yes."

Felix's eyes close as Sylvain moves forward––but Felix frowns a little when he doesn't immediately feel Sylvain's mouth against his. The furrow in his brow softens a moment later, though, when he feels a light kiss against his forehead. Felix's momentary impatience is drowned out by the tenderness behind the gesture, the way Sylvain's lips linger against his skin like a silent promise of devotion. It feels different from all the other times it's happened, now that Felix is fully awake, now that he knows Sylvain _loves_ him––a fact that he's still trying to grasp through the dizzying haze in his mind.

At last, Sylvain pulls back a little. His hand reaches up to settle against the side of Felix's face, his thumb trailing along the outline of Felix's jaw. The sensation makes Felix's eyelids flutter open a little, but he lets them drift closed again as he feels Sylvain move closer and press another gentle kiss to his cheekbone, then to the corner of his mouth. He stops there, lips hovering so close to Felix's that their phantom touch is almost palpable. 

Something snaps in Felix then, and he's unable to stand that distance any longer, as minuscule as it is. He makes a small impatient noise at the back of his throat, his fingers uncurling from Sylvain's collar to slide to the back of his neck, pulling him forward and finally closing the gap between them. 

The first contact of their lips sends a shock through Felix's body, akin to the rush of adrenaline he feels every time he runs headlong into the heart of a battlefield. But unlike swinging his blade, this is something completely new to him. 

He doesn't know how to move, how to react, what to even do with his hands––one of them still presses to the back of Sylvain's neck while the other curls against the sheets on the mattress between them. The sense of worry retreats to the far corners of his mind, though, as soon as Sylvain starts to move his lips against Felix's. 

Felix is frozen at first, eyes squeezed shut and breath locked in his chest. But the way Sylvain kisses him is so achingly gentle and patient, his fingers caressing Felix's jaw and tilting it upwards, each cautious brush of his lips offering every inch of his heart without demanding anything in return.

Felix gives it back anyway, trying to compensate for his lack of experience by mimicking each of Sylvain's movements––maybe a bit too quickly at first, but then matching the same steady pace as he starts to learn the shape of Sylvain's mouth against his. Sylvain responds in kind by tilting his head one way and then the other, as if seeking out the perfect angle––but each of them feels perfect to Felix. Every brush and slide of their lips satisfies the ache of longing that's been dwelling in his heart for so long, while also leaving him starving for more. 

He's not sure when they moved even closer together, but he becomes suddenly aware of all the places they're touching. Somewhere along the way, Sylvain's hand has wandered from Felix's jaw and twined into his hair, while his other hand slides along Felix's waist until it rests against his hip. Felix leans into the touch, shifting his position to angle himself towards Sylvain. 

At this point they've hardly even stopped to breathe, and it's only when they briefly part that Felix realizes how much his head is reeling and how his lungs burn for air. There's only a small space separating them as they pause just to look at each other, the air between them heated with heavy exhales. The expression on Sylvain's face almost makes Felix's heart stop, all trace of hesitation replaced by adoration and desire, and Felix can still hardly comprehend that such emotions would be aimed at _him_.

By now he's practically pressed up against Sylvain's side, but it still doesn't feel close enough, and evidently Sylvain is thinking the same thing based on how his grasp tightens on Felix's hip. Felix complies without question, easily swinging his leg across Sylvain's and sliding onto his lap in one fluid movement. He feels a momentary flicker of worry that he somehow misread Sylvain's signal––but that fear is immediately dashed when Sylvain's hands settle firmly on either side of Felix's waist to keep him there, the expression on his face so stunned that one might mistake it for worship.

It's so vulnerable and openly loving that it makes Felix freeze in place, resisting the urge to glance behind him to see if all the saints have suddenly appeared in his room. Instead he somehow manages to come back to his senses, adjusting his position so his knees settle a bit more comfortably on either side of Sylvain's thighs. 

"What is it?" he asks, the question coming out hushed and not as demanding as he thought it would.

Sylvain blinks like he's just been shaken out of a dream, bearing the hint of a smile. "Nothing, I'm just still trying to believe this is really happening."

The honesty of it tugs at Felix's heart and makes his own mouth start to turn up at one corner. "So am I."

He's not even certain if Sylvain is listening; he's still studying Felix's face with total amazement, taking in every detail as if he doesn't already have each one memorized after all these years. "You're smiling," he says.

Felix scoffs. "Of course I'm smiling. I'm _happy_."

That pulls a soft laugh out of Sylvain as he reaches up to rest his hand against the side of Felix's face. "I'm just saying, it's nice to see." His thumb runs along Felix's cheekbone, his gaze shifting back and forth between Felix's eyes. "You know, I've always wanted to tell you how absolutely stunning you are."

He speaks the praise with such ease that it renders Felix speechless, and he can feel his face heating as he tries to reply, but fails several times before he even manages to find his voice. "Me?" he sputters out at last. "Have you by chance ever looked at yourself?" 

Sylvain's eyes widen, and then he breaks out in a crooked grin, leaning forward to press his forehead to Felix's shoulder as he shakes with laughter. Felix almost worries he's said the wrong thing, but relaxes when Sylvain pulls back again and regards him with eyes alight with mirth. "Leave it to you to try and turn everything into some kind of competition, huh?" 

Unsure how to respond, Felix looks away. "I'm sorry," he starts to say, "I didn't mean––" But he stops when he feels Sylvain's hand cupping his jaw, gently turning his face forward so their eyes meet again. 

"No, no. Don't apologize. I liked it," Sylvain says, continuing to hold Felix's gaze with sincerity for a moment longer, before his eyes flick downwards. His voice softens even further when he continues, "It's how things have always been with us, isn't it? I wouldn't want that to change." 

For some reason, that makes Felix's eyes sting. Those words relieve a number of fears he didn't even know he had. But mostly it’s the knowledge that Sylvain somehow still loves him despite his flaws––and that no matter how much has changed just now, they're still best friends as they’ve always been.

"I suppose you're right," he says, smiling once more. 

Any additional words he was about to say are lost when he sees the intensely focused look on Sylvain's face. His hand still rests against the side of Felix’s jaw––and before Felix can lose his nerve, he wraps his fingers around Sylvain's wrist and turns his head just enough to press his lips to Sylvain's palm. 

Sylvain's sharp gasp sends desire singing through Felix's blood again, and in one swift movement he pitches forward to reclaim Sylvain's lips with another searing kiss. There's a subtle vibration against his mouth as Sylvain hums into it, and then they're falling once again into the unhurried but passionate rhythm they set before. Sylvain's arms encircle Felix's waist, pulling him closer until their chests are pressed together. At the same time, Felix's hands slide up from Sylvain's shoulders to hold his face. 

The trepidation from earlier is gone, superseded by a growing heat as each kiss is longer and deeper than the last. Although there's still a flicker of anxiety at the back of Felix's mind reminding him that he has no idea what he's doing, he's more than willing to let Sylvain guide him––which Sylvain does without question, lifting a hand to hook Felix's chin as he simultaneously coaxes Felix's lips apart with his own.

The ensuing brush of their tongues has Felix seeing stars behind his eyelids, and pulls a low and needy sound from him that he didn't know he was capable of making. He tilts his head to glide their lips together again, but Sylvain pulls back all of a sudden. Felix's eyes blink open in bewilderment, but they drift closed again when Sylvain brushes his hair aside and plants a lingering kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Felix lets out an involuntary gasp and Sylvain pulls back a little, lips still brushing Felix's skin as if waiting for permission to keep going. And Felix gives his immediate consent as he tilts his head back further, fingers twining eagerly into the hair at the nape of Sylvain's neck and pulling him forward until he feels Sylvain's smile press against his throat. Felix bites his lip to try and prevent any other embarrassing noises from escaping––but he soon finds it impossible to hold back a soft whine as Sylvain's lips continue their leisurely path down the side of his neck, finally finding purchase right against his thumping pulse and paying extra attention to the sensitive flesh there.

Time seems to slip away, and Felix hardly notices or cares. He's fairly certain he could stay like this forever, surrendering himself to the comforting solidity of Sylvain's arms around him and the thrilling sensation of Sylvain's lips exploring his skin.

But finally, Sylvain pulls back, eyes alight and mouth turning up in an almost sheepish smile. A faint blush tints his cheeks and his hair is mussed where Felix's fingers have been running through it. Felix knows he probably looks equally wrecked, sitting there in Sylvain's lap, blinking dazedly and still trying to catch his breath. 

He can feel several tingling spots on his neck that he suspects will bruise by morning, and the thought makes a sudden flash of heat run through him––part pleasure, and part something almost ... competitive, like it's somehow unfair that Sylvain could leave a mark on him and get nothing in return. 

And so before he can think twice about it, he's planting his hands on Sylvain's shoulders and pushing, and Sylvain lets him without a single protest. Which is how Felix suddenly finds Sylvain lying underneath him, gazing up at him with a glint of excitement in his eyes––but there's also such an open vulnerability and trust in his expression that's almost too much for Felix to bear. Sylvain has only ever looked at him like that in his wildest fantasies, and the fact that it's happening right now in front of him and it's _real_ feels too good to be true. It makes his heart ache with an overwhelming fondness––and normally he might be embarrassed to feel such a thing, but right now all he can think about is kissing Sylvain again.

Unable to resist, he lowers himself down, one hand braced against the mattress while his other hand rests against Sylvain's chest. Taking the lead this way feels a little intimidating, but that anxiety sputters out as soon as their lips collide again in another slow, heavy kiss. Then Felix pulls back again, only hesitating for about half a second before he leans in to press his mouth to Sylvain's throat the same way Sylvain did to him minutes before. He's not entirely sure if he's doing it correctly––it's probably a bit uncoordinated, maybe a little too rough––but, well, he must be doing _something_ right, judging by the way Sylvain's heartbeat accelerates under his hand as he breathes Felix's name into the stillness.

Some time passes––Felix doesn't know exactly how much, as he's a bit too preoccupied with trailing kisses down to Sylvain's collarbone and then all the way back up to his mouth. But after a while, his arms start to ache from propping himself up, and the golden rays of sunset have started to fade into the soft blue of twilight.

Eventually, their kisses grow soft and lazy. And at last, Felix rolls onto his side––although he keeps an arm wrapped around Sylvain's waist and his face pressed into Sylvain's shoulder. 

They remain that way for a few long moments, silent except for the steady rise and fall of their breathing. Felix's heart is still beating so fast that he wonders if it will ever stop racing, but he doesn't mind the feeling. With his face still buried against Sylvain's shirt, hidden from view, he's fairly certain he's smiling with more contentment than he has in years. 

"Wow," Sylvain says at last. He lets out a soft laugh, and the subtle vibration of it sends a calming warmth through Felix's body. "That was ... even more amazing than I ever imagined it would be."

That does nothing to subdue the heat still lingering on Felix's face, but he also can't help the smug smirk that turns up the corner of his mouth as he finally lifts his head to look Sylvain in the eyes. "So, you've imagined kissing me before?"

Sylvain scoffs, lifting a hand and running his fingers through Felix's hair. "Of course I have. Why, have you never thought about kissing _me_ before?"

"I have," Felix says, a little surprised at himself for how readily he admits it. Of course, with the way Sylvain is looking at him right now––like he's the only person in the world––he would probably admit just about anything if Sylvain asked. "A lot, actually. Especially after that time in the tent. I ..." He snaps his mouth shut, willing himself to at least have _some_ humility.

Sylvain looks stunned for a moment, eyebrows rising before he sobers again into an amused grin. "So, all those times I kissed you on the forehead you were actually awake, huh? ... Wait. That time in the library, did you _pretend_ to be asleep just so I would––"

"Shut up," Felix cuts him off, his face burning, although there's not much bite to his words. "So what if I did? You wouldn't show me any affection otherwise."

"I––" Sylvain starts to say, like he's going to argue, but then just lets out a short sigh. "I guess you're right. I was so scared of you pushing me away that I never even tried to touch you. I'm sorry." As the words tumble out of him, his smile starts to slip away and he gets that stony look in his eyes that always arises when he's blaming himself for something. 

And Felix is suddenly determined to make that look vanish from Sylvain's face––not just right now, but every time it arises from now on. Without hesitation, he shifts his hand to cup Sylvain's jaw, looking right into his eyes. "It's alright," he says, with the firmest assurance he can muster. "It’s not your fault. I know how I've always pushed you away in the past, but ... I won't do it anymore. I mean it."

The words sound a bit clumsy to his own ears, but they seem to have the desired effect on Sylvain anyway. The look in his eyes softens as he places his own hand over Felix's. 

"Besides," Felix continues, "we'll have plenty of time to make up for it, won't we?"

There's a small catch in Sylvain's breathing––and it's a bit difficult to tell in the fading light, but Felix could swear that Sylvain's eyes are glimmering. It occurs to him that maybe no one has ever spoken to Sylvain this way before, that no one has promised to be with him for longer than one night. 

"Yes," Sylvain says at last, voice a bit hoarse. He runs a thumb over Felix's knuckles. "For as long as you want me."

_I'll want you forever_ , Felix thinks, but the weight of it feels too enormous to say right now. For now he tucks it into the corner of his heart, to be revealed one day when he feels ready. Instead he just says, "Good." And after a moment of hesitation, he leans down to press a kiss to Sylvain's forehead.

When he pulls back again, the fond look on Sylvain's face makes Felix's heart stutter once more. He settles down again, his head resting against Sylvain's shoulder and his arm draped across Sylvain's chest. 

He takes a slow, deep breath before asking, "Will you stay the night?" When he doesn't receive an immediate answer he goes on quickly, "I still meant what I said earlier, that you don't have to if you don't want to. And we don't have to ... do anything else. I just ..."

He trails off, feeling the way Sylvain tenses beside him. But after what feels like an eternity, Sylvain wraps an arm around him and keeps a steadying hand against Felix's back. "Yes," he whispers, pressing his forehead to the top of Felix's head. "Of course I'll stay."

And Felix thinks, as he starts to drift towards sleep, that Sylvain doesn't just mean for tonight. 

  


* * *

  


EPILOGUE - THREE MONTHS LATER

"Does everyone understand the plan?" Byleth asks, sweeping their gaze over the gathered students. 

The Blue Lions stand in a loose circle, each of them giving a serious nod in response to the professor's question. They packed up camp not long ago, and are about to set out on the next leg of the journey on the way to their next mission. 

Byleth has assured the class that this battle should be a fairly straightforward one––another typical dispersal of bandits from a nearby village. Still, after his near death a few months ago, Felix has a harder time shaking away the gnawing sense of anxiety before each new mission––a fear that things won't go as expected. 

Fortunately, Sylvain is standing right by his side, so close that their shoulders almost brush. As if sensing Felix's trepidation, Sylvain places a hand against the small of Felix's back, a gentle but grounding gesture of reassurance. It instantly calms Felix down, as he takes a steady breath and lets it out again. 

He arrives back in the present, realizing that the professor is speaking. Ashe must have asked a question, judging by the way Byleth's attention is turned towards him as they provide their explanation. 

Felix half listens, but he's a bit distracted by the feeling of Sylvain's arm around him. He's not certain why he's so flustered by it––it's not like he's unaccustomed to Sylvain touching him. He's _very_ used to that by now. Less than an hour ago they were waking up in their shared tent with their arms around each other––the position they wake up in most days––and kissing under the soft glow of daybreak.

But those private moments of intimacy are different, of course. He's less familiar with these public exhibitions of their relationship, although it's been about a month since they told everyone. It's taken some time for him to ease into the casual displays of affection, but he's learning not to be so self-conscious about it––especially because their professor and classmates have shown nothing but support for them. 

In fact, just as Felix takes a subtle step closer to Sylvain, he notices Dimitri watching them from across the circle and smiling. Felix frowns in momentary annoyance. If he has to hear the prince make one more comment about how _delighted_ he is that two of his childhood friends have fallen in love with each other ... Well, never mind. It's not worth Felix's time to be irritated by it. Instead he settles for making eye contact with Dimitri and then glancing obviously between him and Byleth, which causes Dimitri's smile to drop and his face to go red as he coughs loudly into his fist. 

After Dimitri has assured everyone that he's not dying of pneumonia––just got something caught in his throat––Byleth takes one last look around at all of them and dons an encouraging smile.

"Alright, then. If no one has any further questions, we'd best be on our way."

No one disagrees, and they all begin to spread out to gather their weapons before they depart. 

Sylvain's arm slips from around Felix's waist and he begins to walk away, in the direction of where the horses are still tethered at the edge of the clearing. Felix, however, remains rooted to the spot where he stands.

"Sylvain," he says.

Sylvain stops in his tracks several feet away, looking over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Felix almost forgets what he was going to say, he's so distracted by the way the dappled sunlight glances off Sylvain's bright hair and golden eyes. Then he crosses his arms, frowning indignantly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sylvain blinks in bewilderment before realization dawns in his eyes. His mouth turns up in a teasing smirk. "Hm ... forgetting something?" he repeats, scratching his chin in a gesture of mock ignorance. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I really don't. Maybe if you tell me?"

Felix huffs. "Forget it. Maybe I don't need––"

"Oh, c'mon. Fe- _lix_." A whine creeps into Sylvain's voice on the second syllable of Felix's name, but he's still smiling as he steps forward and places his hands on Felix's shoulders. "Fine, fine. I was just kidding. You win."

"Don't I always?"

That pulls a breathy laugh out of Sylvain. "Yes," he says, leaning down, "I guess you always do." With that, he gives Felix exactly what he was after: a soft kiss on his forehead. It's become a sort of tradition, as of recently, before each battle––a promise that they'll make it back to each other alive.

"There," Sylvain says when he pulls back. "Better?"

Felix hums, pretending to hesitate. "I'm not sure. Might need another one."

He manages to keep his tone flat as he says it, so much that Sylvain doesn't seem to realize it's a joke at first, but then he breaks out into another crooked grin.

"Well, now. Getting a little greedy, are we?" he says––but even as he speaks, he lifts a hand to hook Felix's chin and tilt it upward, then plants another light kiss to Felix's lips.

As fleeting as the kiss is, it makes Felix's heart flutter and his eyes fall closed. He doesn't realize he's starting to lean into it until Sylvain pulls back and Felix almost stumbles into him. 

They look at each other with matching smiles, and it makes something warm bloom in Felix's chest. He wishes more than anything that he could just grab Sylvain by the hand, drag him to some secluded part of the forest, and press him up against a tree somewhere.

But ... no, that can wait until after the battle. After they survive.

"Aww!" Annette's voice startles Felix from his thoughts, and he snaps his head around to see that Annette and Mercedes are watching them from a slight distance with expressions of glee. "You two are so _cute_."

Felix glares at her in response, but it doesn't take long to think of a means of revenge. " _Cute_ , you say?" he muses. "Oh, you know what else was cute? That song you were singing in the greenhouse the other day. Remind me how it went again?"

Annette's face blanches, her smile vanishing in an instant. 

At the same time, Mercedes gasps excitedly. "Ooh! A new song, Annie?"

"I––what? _No_ ," Annette sputters. "I mean, there's no song. I've never sung a song in my life!"

"Is that so?" Felix taps at his temple like he's trying to remember. "Because I seem to recall you singing something about ... what did you call them? Creepy crawlies? Swamp beasties?" 

"Swamp beasties? That _does_ sound interesting," Sylvain joins in. "I'd love to hear it sometime."

Annette looks between the two of them, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "You–– _ugh_. Never mind, I take back what I said. You're not cute, you're _evil_."

With that, she lets out a small _hmph_ , turns on her heel, and starts to march away. 

"Annie, wait for me!" Mercedes calls after her, running to catch up. 

As soon as they're out of earshot, Sylvain sighs and slips his arm around Felix's shoulders.

"Do you think that was ... too mean?" Felix asks. 

Sylvain laughs. "Now, _that's_ a question I thought I'd never hear you ask." Before Felix can protest, he goes on, "Anyway––no, don't worry about it. Annette will forgive you before sundown, I guarantee it." 

He gives Felix a good-natured shake, and pats him on the shoulder as he steps away. "We should probably get ready to go now, huh?"

"Right," Felix says. He'd almost forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. "I'll be there in a moment." 

Felix doesn't realize he's smiling to himself until he notices Byleth standing at a small distance and watching him, and Felix immediately sobers. Strangely, though, the professor doesn't scold him for standing idle. They just regard him with that empty yet knowing gaze of theirs, before they turn and walk away as if nothing happened. 

_What was_ that _about?_ Felix frowns before he starts moving towards the edge of the clearing where his companions are gathering. 

As he contemplates further, trying to interpret Byleth's meaningful stare, he's suddenly taken back to a conversation he had with the professor months ago. Back then, they had asked him why he was so driven to keep fighting––and strangely, he hadn't known how to answer. The obvious answer was that he had to prove himself somehow, that he had to keep getting stronger ... but even at the time, the response had felt hollow and meaningless somehow. 

Until now, he hadn't given it much thought. But suddenly, he has a feeling it's exactly what the professor was trying to convey to him just now––that he should revisit that question once more. 

What is he truly fighting for?

He wonders, as he watches Sylvain swing himself up onto his horse, as Sylvain turns to smile at him one more time, radiant in the glow of the rising sun. Felix smiles back. 

And he thinks, for the first time in his life, that he knows the answer.

**Author's Note:**

> the end! i hope you enjoyed this story as much as i enjoyed writing it, and as always all of your comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. are much appreciated. ♡
> 
> i definitely plan on writing a lot more sylvix and already have another multichapter fic in the works which i am very excited about!! i’m most active on [twitter](https://twitter.com/angst_in_space) (@angst_in_space) which is where i post most of my writing updates (plus frequent wips/snippets). you can also find me on [tumblr](https://angst-in-space.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> thank you all once again for your support, it really means the world to me!


End file.
